


Beautiful

by Eldalire



Series: Dreaming Dreams [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Anorexia, Drinking, Eating Disorder, M/M, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 43,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1444822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldalire/pseuds/Eldalire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between his parents, school, friends, volunteering, and his secret affections, Enjolras just can't control anything anymore.  He wants to be perfect: poised, controlled, flawless, but in trying to do the impossible, he's sent himself into a downward spiral he can't seem to pull himself out of.  But with the help of his friends, he might just be able to pull through this once and for all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Enjolras woke up early, as per usual, and sat idly at the kitchen table after peeling himself out of bed.  He ran his hands through his once-golden hair.  Enjolras’ curls had gone limp, the shine gone.  His golden locks had wilted and become the color of dead grass. It was thin and fell out when he combed his hand through, and he frowned when he saw the tangle of long strands in his fingers. 

         “I guess I’m just going to continue to get more disgusting, then.” He said to himself, sipping his morning cup of tea in his oversized sweatshirt—his current favorite article of clothing. He sighed.

         What had started out as a daily trip to the gym with Bossuet quickly spiraled.  Between Enjolras’ impossibly packed class schedule and his desperate struggle to be flawless, eventually the only thing he felt he could control was his weight. When he began shedding pounds from working out with Bossuet, he was determined to keep losing. He liked the control it gave him at first, but now his weight was becoming a problem as well. The scariest part of the entire situation was that Enjolras could not see an issue. 

         It had been just over two months since Enjolras had started this new regime, and already he had lost a whopping 7 kilograms. He was small and waifish to begin with, but now he was beginning to look downright skeletal at just 50 kg: 110 pounds.

His cheeks were hollow and his skin was papery and pale. He looked at his watch. 7:30.  Bossuet usually came to pick him up at seven, that way they could get an hour at the gym before classes.  He didn’t expect the schedule to change because of the spring holiday, which had started the day before, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

 

Me>7:31 – Where are you?

Bossuet>7:31 – what do u mean?

Me>7:32 – are we going to work out or…?

Bossuet>7:32 – Already here sry.

Me>7:32 – why didn’t you pick me up?

Bossuet>7:33 – cant talk sry I’ll be by later w/ Joly.

 

Enjolras bowed his eyebrows and tossed his phone onto the table, exasperated. He had to do something, anything to get the weight off. 

         “Run to Jehan's.  That’s two miles.” He said to himself, pulling off his sweatshirt. “I’m going to look deplorable running down the street like this, but I guess it can’t be helped.” He said to himself, looking down at his middle.  He pulled up his shirt and examined himself, squeezing at the minuscule amount of excess around his waist.  Looking at his glut, however small the amount was, made him want to gag. He pulled his shirt down again, happy he could no longer see his flaws, and slipped on his running shoes, taking the stairs down to the ground level of his building, then starting out the door at a good clip.  He couldn’t help but notice a girl in the lobby staring.

         _She thinks I’m disgusting._ He thought, running down the sidewalk. _That’s because I **am** disgusting._ He was sure she was gawking at the gross excess around his arms and legs and middle, excess only he could see. But in reality, she was struck with concern when she saw the state of the young man.  The idea that he was going out to run worried her even more. To her, Enjolras looked like he was going to collapse from lack of sustenance.  His joints were all visible through his milky skin, and his face was grey and hollow.  His eyes were hidden in rings the color of graphite.  Enjolras looked like a walking corpse. 

 

He took off running, but was exhausted and dizzy by the end of the block.

         “You’re just out of shape,” he told himself. “You’re a fat-ass. Keep running.  Keep running, you idiot!” he shouted at himself, pushing himself much too hard for his current state, but he didn’t care. He didn’t realize what he was doing to himself.

 

That was, perhaps, the saddest part of the entire situation.

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire was sitting on a park bench just outside of his university campus, a sketchbook in his lap, numerous pencils pushed through his stubby ponytail. He scribbled away, enjoying the quiet and the dewy atmosphere, but mostly he relished the fact that he was not hung over.

         It had been an entire two weeks since he had consumed any alcohol, and though it was proving extremely difficult, it was for a worthy cause: Enjolras.  He had been so hopelessly in love with the strong-willed, intelligent, _beautiful_ law student since meeting him in the fall, but Enjolras condemned drinking.  Grantaire stopped for him, hoping to catch his attention at one of the Campus Crusaders meetings.  Though the name was pretty lame, the group was actually really okay, even though Grantaire was only a member because of Enjolras.  They set up volunteer opportunities for the students at university. Every Tuesday afternoon, they went to the local middle school to tutor students free in the library. Enjolras and a few of the other guys didn’t have morning classes on Thursday, so they picked up litter on campus. They used donations they collected at school events to sponsor marches and protests against anything from gay rights to a new playground at the elementary school.  And Enjolras was behind all of it.  He may not have started the group, but he was most certainly at its heart.

         That same, remarkable man was exactly who Grantaire was currently doodling.  In fact, most of his sketchbook was filled with portraits of his marble muse. It was actually becoming quite bothersome to his professors, who wanted more ‘still lives and REAL portraiture’, but he couldn’t get Enjolras off of his mind. 

         He leaned back on his bench, closing his eyes and resting his open sketchbook on his chest, and thought of Enjolras. He could almost see how lovely he looked when he was smiling, standing on that chair and recounting how successful their last homework help session had gone at the middle school. With every breath, he recounted how sweet he smelled when he walked past in the hallway, his petite, girlish build, and his curly, golden locks.  Everything about him was perfect.  Everything about him was—

 

 _Keep running, jackass. No.  No don’t stop!  You can keep going! Dammit, you worthless slob!_ He shouted at himself as he slowed, his chest heaving, his face sheet white and his ponytail sticking to the back of his neck.  He coughed, unable to catch his breath, doubled over with his hands on his knees.

         “Oh shit,” he gasped before keeling over, falling to his knees.  Grantaire’s eyes snapped open, falling immediately on Enjolras.  He dropped his sketchbook and ran to his side.

         “Hey you okay?” he asked, trying to sound casual, though he was both worried and hopelessly enamored at the same time. In fact, he felt like he might vomit just being alone with the golden-haired god, however vulnerable he was at the moment.  Enjolras froze. Of all the people to collapse in front of, it had to be Grantaire, that boorish, disheveled, _lovely_ man he loved far more than he cared to admit.

         “Yes.  I’m fine.” He said, standing again, holding a hand out to steady himself. “Just…didn’t drink enough this morning, I guess.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest, though it made it more difficult to breathe.  He didn’t want Grantaire to see how loathsome his body was.

         _He’s a friend. He’ll leave if he sees how disgusting you are.  Nobody wants to be friends with the fat, ugly, short—_

         “Here,” Grantaire said, offering his dented aluminum water bottle to Enjolras, who took it tentatively and unscrewed the cap with some difficulty, his hand weak and shaking.

         “Thanks.” He said after taking a long drink.

         “You don’t look too good, ‘Jolras…why don’t you sit down for a minute…”

         “No I’m fine.  I have to keep running.” He said, then added: “I ate too much last night…” under his breath.

         “You’re going to faint if you do anything besides sit down.” Grantaire said with a nervous sort of chuckle, draping his arm around Enjolras, holding him up—but also looking for an excuse to place his hand on Enjolras. The blonde didn’t complain. Though it did give him a rush, Grantaire was terribly surprised when he realized just how small Enjolras was. One of his hands reached almost half way around his middle.  Grantaire lead him over to the bench he had been sitting at, completely forgetting his sketchbook was laying open on the grass.  He quietly prayed Enjolras would not see.

         “What’s happened, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore his open sketchbook. “Are you ill?”

         “No I’m alright.  I told you, I just haven’t had enough water today.”

         “Did you run all the way from your apartment?” he asked.  Enjolras’ apartment was nearly two miles away, and though that wouldn’t have been much for the average individual, Enjolras was not average.

         “It isn’t that far.”

         “It is for you.”

         “What do you mean?” Enjolras asked, an edge to his voice.  Grantaire still thought it sounded angelic.

         “I mean…you look a bit…weak, for lack of a better term…” Grantaire gave himself a mental slap.  What a terrible thing to say! “I mean—”

         “It’s okay,” Enjolras replied with a small, sleepy smile.  “I know what you meant.”

 

_He meant you’re a hideous fat whale and you’re too out of shape to run._

 

Enjolras sighed, resting his skinny elbows on his knobby knees, supporting his head with his hands, looking down at the ground.  Grantaire tried to kick his notebook, but it was far too late for that.

         “Is this yours?” Enjolras asked, taking the book.

         “No!  I mean, yes, but—I don’t…they’re not very good…” he babbled in an effort to get Enjolras to give it back, but the blonde took no notice and flipped through the pages.

         “I hope you are joking, R, these are beautiful. Who is it?  Who are all of these pictures of?” he asked, looking through all of the pages.

         “Oh nobody, just…my imagination.

         “Your imagination has my hair.” He noted with a small smile. 

‘At least my hair before _…_ ’

 

His hair was dull and limp now.  It fell out when he brushed it.

 

In fact, Enjolras noted that Grantaire’s illustrations all resembled him, or at least how he wanted to look: perfect, ideal.  The illustrations showed him strong and lean and toned, his skin clear and healthy, unmarred by the dry spots and scars he had given himself picking at imperfections in the mirror.  His hair was glossy and golden, how it was before.  One of the pages was filled with more drawings of him, only in these he was in statuesque poses, his stomach and chest strong and lean and muscular.  His cheeks turned red.  How he wished he could be like those drawings for Grantaire…Then the artist could actually draw him.

 

Grantaire snatched the book away before Enjolras could turn to the next page.

         “I don’t think you want to see any more…” Grantaire said nervously. Enjolras smiled. Though he hadn’t spent much time alone with Grantaire, he had always found him somehow charming, though he did seem like a bit of a slob and always sported a five-o-clock shadow. Enjolras often found himself thinking of Grantaire, not in a particularly infatuated way, just thinking. He was always relatively quiet at volunteer meetings, and rarely came to actually volunteer, but he did seem like a genuine person.  Now, Enjolras was realizing how kind he really was.  He looked up at Grantaire with a smile.

         “well…you’re very good.”  Enjolras said after a moment, finding himself unable to support his head any longer. He allowed it to lull back against the bench, his hair hanging over the back.

         “Thanks…” Grantaire said, his face becoming hot, his ears turning red under his ebony curls.  They were quiet for a long time.

 

         “Hey, uh…Maybe we could, like, grab coffee.  If you want to, I mean, you don’t have to.”  Enjolras smiled, ready to agree immediately, but something stopped him.

 

_Go on, you glutton. Get a coffee and spoil all your hard work. Your middle was finally becoming taut, but ruin it, if you want._

His smile vanished.

         “I don’t know…” he replied.

         “Oh…Yeah okay…” Grantaire said gloomily, his big, blue eyes flooding with sudden sadness.

         “Wait,” Enjolras said suddenly, not wanting to upset Grantaire.  “I’ll go with you.” He smiled meekly.

         “Really?  I mean…Yeah let’s go.  I have a scooter.” He said, shoving his sketchbook into his bag and looking towards a beat up, olive drab Vespa that looked about fifty years old leaning against a nearby tree.

 

Grantaire walked it over to the bench and attempted to kick start the engine. No luck.  He tried again.  The engine turned over once, but then sputtered and fizzled out.  He tried a third time, and the scooter finally turned over, emitting a loud rumble.  Grantaire straddled the bike, handing his helmet to Enjolras.

         “You’re going to ride it on the sidewalk?” he shouted over the engine as he placed the helmet over his head. His neck could hardly support the extra weight.

         “Yeah I ride this thing everywhere.” He replied with a goofy grin Enjolras found quite endearing.  He sat behind Grantaire and puttered through the park, out to the main road.

 

As soon as they were out of the park, Grantaire sped up considerably. Enjolras startled and wrapped his gangly arms around Grantaire’s waist, pressing his front into Grantaire’s back.

         “You okay, Apollo?” he called back.

         “What?” Enjolras shouted.  Grantaire laughed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they reached Grantaire’s favorite coffee shop, Enjolras was shaking, still hanging on to Grantaire for dear life.  He didn’t let go until the engine stopped.

         “Never been on a motorcycle before? Not that this actually counts as a motorcycle…” Grantaire said.  Enjolras stood up and straightened out his shirt, wishing he had brought an extra layer. The ride had made him chilly, though it was nearly 70 degrees.

         “No I haven’t,” he admitted, “but it was fun.” He smiled, handing Grantaire his helmet back.  He locked it, and the scooter, to a nearby bike rack, then took off his sweatshirt and handed it to Enjolras.

         “You’re shaking.”

         “Yeah just…cold.”

         “Put that on it’s nice and warm.” Grantaire smiled. Enjolras tugged the sweatshirt over his head.  It was, in fact, cozy and had retained Grantaire’s body heat.  Though it was much too big and covered Enjolras’ hands, he was happy to have it. He was warm, now…and covered; he only wished he had worn long pants.  His legs were just as thick and deplorable as the rest of him, he thought.

 

When they entered the little cafe, Grantaire lead him over to the corner booth, his usual spot near the window towards the back of the large room. He noted the way the other customers looked at him, and shrunk into Grantaire’s sweatshirt, crossing his arms over his chest.  Grantaire thought he looked like a wilted white flower, living in the shade and longing for the sun.

         “You alright, ‘Jolras?” Grantaire asked. Enjolras looked up at him briefly.

         “Yes.  It smells nice in here.” He said with a small smile. 

         “Yeah…Yeah it’s a good little place. Here, have a menu.” He said, handing the laminated page to Enjolras.  He did not receive it.

         “Oh no, it’s alright.  I’m not hungry.” He said, mentally congratulating himself for sounding so convincing.  Grantaire nodded.

         “At least get a coffee or something. I invited you. I’m paying.” He said with a grin. Enjolras shook his head.

         “I don’t drink coffee…”

         “Too bitter for the Little Flower?” Grantaire teased with a chuckle.  He grinned when he saw Enjolras’ cheeks flush pink.  “Tea, then.  They have lovely fruity teas for ladies like you.” Enjolras laughed, something he hadn’t done in a long while.

         “You’re funny, Grantaire.” He said with a smile, playing with his thin, straw-like hair.

         “Well thank you very much.” Grantaire replied as a young waitress walked over to their corner table, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun.

         “Hey, ‘Taire.  Who’s your friend?” the girl asked, eyeing Enjolras in a relatively concerned manner.  He shied away from the girl, but looked up and offered her his skeletal hand.

         “Enjolras.” He said simply.  She took his hand carefully, as if fearful of breaking it.

         “Eponine.” She replied with a smile Enjolras could tell was fake. 

 

_She doesn’t even know you and she hates you, you slug.  She can tell how disgusting you are just by looking at you.  She’s looking at the jiggle in your arms, you know._

         “What can I get you two cuties?” she asked with a grin, pulling a small spiral notebook out of her pocket. “Your usual, ‘Taire?” Grantaire nodded.

         “Of course.” He smiled.

         “And what about you, handsome?” he asked, turning to Enjolras.  He rolled his eyes at the compliment.

 

Though he looked sickly in his current state, Enjolras was still quite striking. Though thin, his face was strong and angular, yet somehow still soft and ladylike, in a way.  His eyes were crystalline blue, however dull they had become. Even his nose was regal and statuesque. Had he been healthy, he would have been ethereal.   In fact, the images in Grantaire’s sketchbook were not entirely far-fetched. Enjolras had really looked like them, once: pristine, immaculate, ideal, beautiful. 

 

         “Same as me.” Grantaire answered for him before he could refuse.  Eponine smiled and turned away, walking quickly back behind the counter.  Enjolras’ stomach fluttered. 

         “Why did you do that?” he asked Grantaire, not angry so much as worried.  He felt anxiety building in his body; his hands had gone numb.

         “Don’t worry, you’ll like it.” Grantaire replied with a smile.

         “I don’t want you to pay for me—” he lied. He didn’t care who paid for it, all he wanted was to be empty.  To be empty is to be thin, and to be thin is to be beautiful.  Enjolras could not see how skinny he had become. He could not see himself wasting away.

         “It’s okay.  I just sold a painting, I’ve got cash.” He smiled.  Enjolras attempted a smile back, but failed miserably, just sort of raising the corner of his mouth in a semi-grin.  Eponine returned with a tray a moment later, placing two giant mugs on the table, each overflowing with whipped cream. 

         “Enjoy, sweetie!” she said to Grantaire sarcastically, giving him a loving whack on the back of the head. “And I want you to finish that, Cutie.” She said to Enjolras, pointing at the mug.  “You look like you need more than a cocoa.” She walked away. Enjolras looked at the giant mug, his eyes wide, his arms crossed. 

 

 _That has too many calories, Enjolras._   His mind whispered.  _But go on.  If you want to stay a fat-ass, drink up._

A lump formed in his throat.  It was like two different people living inside of his head: one of them was Enjolras, the strong willed, intelligent, and loving young man with a heart of gold. The other was The Disease, eating away at the real Enjolras and slowly taking over.  Enjolras was getting weaker and weaker as the Disease consumed him. He stirred his mug of cocoa with his spoon, watching the cream melt and disperse.  Grantaire had already started drinking his, the cream sticking to his nose.  Enjolras chuckled and reached across the table, wiping it off with his thumb.  Grantaire blushed.

         “You like it?” he asked.  Enjolras nodded and smiled, though he hadn’t touched it. “It’s my favorite. I have at least one a week since I stopped drinking…” he admitted.

         “You’ve stopped?” Enjolras inquired with a genuine smile.  Perhaps Grantaire was more respectable than he thought.

         “Yeah…I started to cut back about a month ago, but I’ve gone an entire two weeks without anything.  I actually feel pretty okay.” He said, taking another sip.

         “That’s wonderful!  I’m so happy for you, Grantaire!” Enjolras said, hoping Grantaire wouldn’t notice his lack of interest in his cocoa, but he had no such luck.

         “Drink that before it gets cold, otherwise it’s just real thick chocolate milk, and you can make that at home.” He chuckled. Enjolras lifted the mug slowly and shuddered as the porcelain touched his chapped lips.  He took a small sip, the sweetness sending a pleasant tingle through his body.  He was instantly warmed, and couldn’t help but take a larger sip…and another…And another.  Before he knew it, the mug was half empty, and he felt like he had been hit by a truck.

 

_Well done, you pig._

 

         “Is there a bathroom here?” he asked Grantaire as calmly as he could.  He nodded.

         “Yup.  Just around the corner.” He said, pointing to a short hallway behind Enjolras. He quickly stood up and walked to the restroom, making sure nobody was around before taking off Grantaire’s sweatshirt and hanging it on the door of one of the two small stalls. He didn’t want to get it dirty. Then slid the lock closed and squeezed his eyes shut, tears sneaking out and slipping down his cheeks. He took a deep, long breath.

         “I don’t want to do this…” he said to himself.

 

         _You have to, or you’ll ruin everything.  This is your punishment for eating too much._

The Disease snarled in his ear, forcing him to his knees in front of the toilet. He had only done this one other time, after eating lunch out with Joly and Bossuet.  That was weeks ago, now, and he vowed to never stoop so low again, yet here he was.

 

         _Get rid of it._

 

The Disease growled.  Enjolras obeyed, reaching down his throat and flushing the toilet to disguise his heaving, tears gushing from his foggy blue eyes as he sobbed.

 

Grantaire sat at the table patiently awaiting Enjolras’ return.  Things seemed to be going well, or…as well as things could go for Grantaire. He had been somewhat down on his luck, but Enjolras seemed to be at least mildly enjoying his company, which was a step in the right direction. 

         After a while, Eponine wandered back to his table and sat down in the seat Enjolras had been occupying.

         “What’s up, Sweetie?” she asked, supporting her head on her hand.  “You look very contemplative.” He smiled at her.

         “Just sitting…thinking.”

         “Where’s your friend?” she asked.

         “Bathroom.”

         “He went back there like, twenty minutes ago, ‘Taire…” she said, concern evident in her motherly voice. Eponine was something like a mother to Grantaire, whose own mother walked out when he was very young. Though they were the same age, Eponine seemed so much warmer and kinder than any other girl he had ever met did. He felt like he could tell her anything, and she wouldn’t judge him, how he imagined a mom should be. She was the only one who knew he was gay.

         “You think he left?  He wouldn’t leave…” he reassured himself.

         “He didn’t look too good…Was he sick or something?  Maybe he’s got the flu…”

         “No he’s just…I don’t know…He’s just small, I guess.”

         “Damn right he is!  He’s cute, though, or he would be if he didn’t look so damn sickly.” She said with a smile.  “You going out with him?” Grantaire blushed.  “Or is this the Marble Muse you’re always drawing?” Grantaire covered his face with his hands.  Eponine laughed. “Just ask him out already. You’ve been gawking over him for a year, now.”

         “I can’t.” he replied, his voice muffled by his hands.

         “Why?  You’re a cutie too, R!  You might look like a slob sometimes, but if you would actually try once and a while, you’d be pretty handsome, you know that?”

         “He doesn’t like me.”

         “How do you know?  I saw him take the whipped cream off your nose!  That’s total flirting.”

         “I don’t know…”  Grantaire looked at his watch.  “He’s been back there nearly half an hour…” Eponine shrugged.

         “Sorry, sweetie, I have to get back to work or they’ll fire my ass.” She said, sliding out of the booth, leaving Grantaire alone again, a nagging in his heart telling him something was wrong. He stood up and made his way to the bathroom.

         “Enjolras?” he asked as he opened the door. He saw his sweatshirt hanging over the back of one of the stall doors, but received no answer besides sobbing. He ran to the stall door and knocked gently.

         “Enjolras, you okay?”

         “Please go away.” Enjolras answered quietly through his tears.

         “I’m not going away…” Grantaire said as calmly as he could, though he was in great distress.  Something was most certainly wrong with Enjolras.  “Are you alright?  Are you sick?”

         “Grantaire, I…I just…” there was a long moment of tense silence before Grantaire heard something heavy fall against the door of the stall. He looked down and saw Enjolras’ golden curls splayed out on the floor.

         “Enjolras!” Grantaire nearly shouted, crouching down and looking under the locked door.  His Marble Muse lay pale and unconscious on the floor. Grantaire slid himself under the door and unlocked it, picking up Enjolras and holding him for a long moment trying to decide what to do.  He didn’t want to make a scene…He didn’t want to embarrass Enjolras, should he wake up.  Grantaire set him down gently on the tile floor again, for there was nowhere else to put his limp body, and pulled his sweatshirt off of the stall door, draping it over Enjolras to keep him warm while he carried him out through the back door.


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras woke up in his bed, dizzy and in a cold sweat.  He couldn’t remember what had happened after he purged, but knew he didn’t put himself to bed…He usually didn’t have the energy to make it into the bedroom room and just collapsed on the sofa.  He slept there most nights, feeling far too weak to make the walk across his apartment.

         He sat up slowly, his hair all a mess, his loose shirt hanging around his bony shoulders.  He sighed, startled when the bedroom door began to open.

         “Oh hey,” Grantaire said, pushing the door open with his back.  “Felling better?” he asked, sitting down next to Enjolras.  “Want anything?” he added when Enjolras didn’t answer.

         “I’m fine.”

         “You haven’t eaten anything since your cocoa this morning…and that didn’t end all that well…” Grantaire said, offering Enjolras a sleeve of Saltine crackers.

 _Two calories each. They’re safe._ He took one with a small smile.

         “You didn’t have to stay.” He said before taking a small nibble at the corner of the cracker.  Eating had become a strange feeling for him—unnatural.

         “I wanted to…I mean, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

         “That was really…really sweet.  Thanks.” Enjolras smiled, leaning into Grantaire’s shoulder affectionately.  Grantaire’s heart fluttered, and he turned so that his chin was nested in Enjolras’ pale golden curls.  When Enjolras did not recoil, he planted a gentle kiss on his hair.

         “I’m sorry about before…I guess you really didn’t want to go for coffee, huh?” he said with a chuckle.

         ‘You have no idea how much I wanted to, Grantaire…’ he thought to himself. ‘I want to be normal.’

         _You’re too obese to be normal, Enjolras._

         “It’s not your fault.” He said, feeling tearful; he just didn’t have the energy to cry.

         “Has that…happened a lot lately?” he asked, “you haven’t been coming to volunteer meetings for the past few weeks.  To be honest…you look really…run down.”

         _He’s too afraid to say you’re fat._

         ‘he’s too sweet…’ Enjolras corrected The Disease.  He felt his face grow hot.

         “I’m fine.” That seemed to be the only thing Enjolras knew how to say as of late.  He took another saltine cracker and ate it, hating the deplorable fullness developing in his middle.  He was only adding to himself.  He was only making Enjolras fatter and more disgusting.

         “Okay…” Grantaire said, taking Enjolras’ cold, pale hand in his own. They sat together quietly for a long while, Enjolras eating more saltines, slowly and carefully, before breaking the silence.

         “Kiss me.”

         Grantaire blushed.

         “What?” he asked, pushing a loose ebony curl behind his ear.

         “Please.” Enjolras replied.  Grantaire didn’t need to be asked again.  He leaned forward quickly, startling Enjolras a bit, and kissed his bottom lip surprisingly lightly for his eagerness. Enjolras leaned into him and kissed him back as best as he knew how.  Though few knew it, Enjolras had never been in a relationship.  He hadn’t yet kissed anyone, though he was twenty years old. Grantaire took his slender waist in his hand and pulled him closer, until he felt as though he might melt and become a part of Grantaire.  In that moment, he was just Enjolras, the fighter, the believer, the headstrong. The Disease didn’t exist. When he was in Grantaire’s arms, he was normal; he was beautiful.

 

Enjolras was exhausted when Grantaire pulled away.  The exertion of throwing himself entirely into that one kiss had completely worn him out physically and emotionally.  He simply leaned against Grantaire’s chest, for that was where his head fell when he lulled over.  Grantaire leaned back on the bed, sitting up against the footboard with Enjolras’ back against his chest, sitting quietly, half asleep.  Grantaire combed his hand through Enjolras’ spun-gold hair. Though it was brittle and fell out in his fingers, Grantaire still thought it was beautiful and wonderful for the simple fact that it was Enjolras’.  However, he was beginning to worry on a deeper level.  Enjolras was sicker than he originally thought. The artist suddenly felt guilty. He couldn’t just leave, not with Enjolras like this.  Enjolras needed help, but Grantaire didn’t know who to tell.  He didn’t know who to go to. 

         “Hey, ‘Jolras…?” Grantaire asked after a long while, unsure if Enjolras was even awake. Enjolras’ cerulean eyes fluttered open.

         “Hm?”

         “This is sort of…I don’t know if you want to, and it’s okay if you don’t, but I was wondering if…like, do you want to—”

         “I’ll go out with you, Grantaire.” He answered with a smile, “But don’t leave me, alright?” Enjolras added, looking up at Grantaire sadly, almost frightened.  “Just wait, I’ll get better.” He added with a meek smile.  ‘Someday I will be beautiful.  I’ll be perfect for you.’ He thought.  Grantaire wasn’t sure what to say, but he nodded.  At the very least, Enjolras knew that something was wrong, he thought, unaware that Enjolras’ idea of ‘wrong’ was different from Grantaire’s. The artist saw Enjolras as sickly and thin.  Enjolras saw himself as hulking and disgusting.

         “I’m glad I fainted on you.” Enjolras said quietly, closing his eyes again.  Grantaire smiled meekly.

         “Me too.”

 

Enjolras fell asleep in bed shortly, and Grantaire stood up and decided to poke around the kitchen, curious as to what Enjolras had been living on.  He was terribly disappointed and disturbed. When he opened the small cupboard, he found at least five boxes of saltines, which was odd.  There wasn’t much else in the cupboard besides tin boxes of tea. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile at the numerous fruity varieties he had joked about earlier. At the bottom of the cupboard, on the floor, sat a canister of rolled oats for oatmeal and a plastic container of fiber powder—also odd for the cupboard of a twenty-year-old man.

         The refrigerator wasn’t much better. It was nearly full, but full of fruits and vegetables—and little else.  Grantaire, who wasn’t one for vegetables, thought it looked like rabbit food, and was appalled by the lack of bread products and meats. Grantaire dabbled in cooking, but he could see the only potentially hot food Enjolras ate was probably that oatmeal in the bottom of the cupboard.  Measuring cups and a scale were sitting on the countertop next to the sink. Everything was spotless. Not a thing was out of place. Grantaire wrote a quick note in his sketchbook and tore it out, leaving it on the counter:

 

_Ran to the store. Back soon, I promise._

_~R_

He penciled a quick portrait of Enjolras on the bottom, for good measure, and left the apartment.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

“I’m so excited!” Joly said, holding Bossuet’s hand on the center console of the car. “I haven’t seen Enjolras in so long!”

         “Don’t be too excited, Love.” Bossuet said, signaling onto Enjolras’ street. 

         “Why?  Is he alright?” Joly asked, concern in his big brown eyes.  Bossuet smiled sadly in his direction.  He loved the expression on Joly’s face when he was worried. As terrible as it sounded, Bossuet loved it when he was nervous, because his eyes got big and watery, and his cheeks turned red.  He looked adorable, and would often look to Bossuet for comfort. 

         “He’s definitely…ill.” Bossuet said. Joly recoiled.

         “Have you been with him lately? Do you think you could have caught it?” Joly loved Bossuet with all his heart, but he was a terrible hypochondriac and a nervous wreck when it came to illness.  He wouldn’t even hold Bossuet’s hand if he had so much as a sniffle, and wouldn’t let Bossuet get in bed without showering first. But Bossuet loved him anyhow, and wouldn’t have left him for anything in the world.

         “I don’t think it’s anything contagious, Love.” He replied.  “He started coming to the gym with me in the mornings, but then he stopped eating…I haven’t been letting him come with me anymore, but I don’t think it’s helped much…He doesn’t look very well, just warning you.”  Joly relaxed considerably and took Bossuet’s hand again.

         “Oh the poor thing...”

         “He used to be gorgeous, too. He looks like he’s about forty now…It’s worse than when he did this in high school…” Joly frowned.  “Still want to see him, Love?”

         “Well I have to see him, now. Maybe I can help him…” Joly was, ironically, a medical student, and felt it was his responsibility to help anyone with an ailment. 

         “It isn’t your problem, Joly. We won’t stay long, we’ll just say hello…I think he’s angry with me for not letting him work out with me anymore. He probably won’t want to see me.” Bossuet parked at the curb in front of Enjolras’ apartment building and walked inside.

 

The building wasn’t a typical city skyscraper: it was in the historical district of Paris, and was a converted townhouse.  Enjolras lived on the second floor, but had his own door downstairs. Bossuet and Joly ascended the stairs and knocked on Enjolras’ door.  There was no answer.  Joly looked up at Bossuet, worried.

         “He’s probably asleep.  That’s all he does, lately…” he said, reaching above the doorframe and feeling for Enjolras’ spare house key.  He unlocked the door and walked in quietly, followed tentatively by Joly.

         “Enjolras?” Bossuet called lightly. “Joly’s come to say hello with me.” He continued.  They heard movement in the back room, and Enjolras peeked around the bedroom door.

         “Hello, Joly.” Enjolras said quietly. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling all that well…” he retreated back into his bedroom for a moment, emerging a moment later in Grantaire’s sweatshirt, fearful of Joly seeing his current state: too big. “Would you like anything? I have…stuff…” Enjolras said, walking out into the kitchen, stretching his stick-like arms over his head.  Joly looked mortified. 

         “We’re alright, Enjolras.  Just sit down.  I haven’t seen you in months!  We have to catch up!” Joly said as cheerfully as possible, sitting down on the sofa, his hands rested on his knees. Joly had lost a leg when he was seven, falling off his bike and into the path of a moving truck. He had a top-of-the-line prosthetic that he liked to play with when he was sitting down. Bossuet sat next to him and put his arm around Joly’s shoulders.  Enjolras sighed and sat on the ataman, noting Grantaire’s message on the counter.

         “How are your studies, Joly?” Enjolras asked with a smile.  Joly returned the grin. Though he was quite obviously ill, Enjolras was still beautiful, especially when he smiled.

         “Very well.  I’m actually quite enjoying myself, though I miss all of you.” He added, looking to Bossuet for a moment.  He was going to school at Cambridge, and had been living on campus. Bossuet was taking his absence especially hard, considering they had moved in together before Joly transferred. “I hear you and my Bossuet have many classes in common.”

         “Almost all of them.”  Bossuet said, playing with a lock of Joly’s dark hair. Bossuet usually wore a knit beanie hat, for what little hair he had was pale blonde.  Though he was only 23, he was nearly bald. In fact, Bossuet was relatively unlucky in many aspects of his life.  He had been accidently awarded a scholarship which was later revoked, forcing him to get a job to pay for school, his girlfriend cheated on him, (though he often considered this lucky, as he was now happily with Joly) and his dorm had been robbed, taking everything except his bed and desk. He often said that meeting Joly was the luckiest thing that ever happened to him, and that Joly kept him going despite his dumb luck.

         “Enjolras is taking an art class on Friday mornings, though.”  Bossuet added. Joly raised an eyebrow, immediately thinking of Grantaire, who was attending the same university as Enjolras and Bossuet for fine art and illustration.

         “I did not know you were interested in the arts, Enjolras.” Joly said with a smirk.  Enjolras blushed slightly.

         “I’ll have you know I have always wished to learn to paint.  I had a free morning, so I took advantage of it.”

         “And Grantaire is in the same class.” Bossuet ‘whispered’ loudly to Joly, who giggled.

         “I knew it!” he said.  Enjolras blushed a deeper shade of red.

         “Quiet!  He’s my friend!” Enjolras said with a smile, holding back laughter, for he was terribly weak and felt laughing would cause him to collapse. Bossuet laughed. Enjolras hoped Grantaire wouldn’t return until Joly and Bossuet had left.  He didn’t feel like explaining that, and he certainly wasn’t ready to announce their relationship, though he knew Joly and Bossuet wouldn’t think anything of it.  He just didn’t want word getting around…He didn’t want his parents involved in any of this.

 

Enjolras’ parents had more or less disowned him to begin with.  They were extremely selfish and wealthy, and Enjolras did not agree with their lifestyle.  Though he had been raised Republican, his views differed from his parents, and he had fought with his father over Christmas.  His father had backhanded him across the jaw, and he had not spoken to either of them since.  That was one of the many triggers of Enjolras’ current downward spiral, but he didn’t want them involved. This had happened before, and his parents had done nothing to help him along.  They would not approve of his present state, and certainly would not tolerate Grantaire, who had somehow gone from hopeless secret crush to necessary presence in a matter of hours.  Enjolras’ day had been nothing short of a whirlwind. 

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire coasted into Enjolras’ small driveway as the engine died.  He shrugged and put down the kickstand.  He had bought his Vespa second-hand from a garage sale from a retired French paratrooper.  There was a cutout in the front section to hold a bazooka, which made it look a bit awkward, but Grantaire purchased it for 175 euro, so he really couldn’t complain.

         He took the bag of groceries up the stairs and into Enjolras’ apartment, surprised when he saw Joly and Bossuet sitting with Enjolras in the living room.

         “Hey, Joly!” he said with a smile, placing the groceries on the counter.  “I haven’t seen you in ages!” he bent over and hugged Joly, who was considerably smaller than he was, before sitting next to Enjolras, who looked quite exhausted. Enjolras leaned against him.

         “So you’re ‘friends’, hm, Enjolras?” Bossuet said with a smile.  Joly chuckled.

         “We’ve just decided to be together today.” Enjolras admitted.  Grantaire smiled. It became real when Enjolras said it aloud to someone other than him.

         “Oh that’s wonderful!” Joly cooed, “Enjolras, this is your first relationship, isn’t it?” he added.  Enjolras blushed.  It had always been difficult for him to allow himself to be loved, especially now. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be with someone with such thick thighs and a nasty muffin top. But for one reason or another, Grantaire loved him, and had been brave enough to profess that love when Enjolras was not.

         “Well, I guess I’ll start dinner. It’s nearly six.” Grantaire said, standing up from his seat next to Enjolras.

         “No, I want to.” Enjolras said with a smile. Grantaire looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

         “Do you feel okay?”  Enjolras nodded in reply.

         “I like cooking.” He said.  Grantaire sat back down and smiled at Enjolras. Bossuet looked to Grantaire the moment Enjolras was out of the room, concern evident in his eyes, but not for the reason Grantaire expected.

         “Grantaire, I know you mean well, but I swear to God if you hurt him, I will beat the shit out of you.”  Grantaire bowed his eyebrows.

         “He asked _me_ , Bossuet…I’m not going to leave him…not ever—especially not like this.”

         “It’s not just about leaving him, Grantaire. He isn’t in his right mind, R, and if you take advantage of that I will not think twice about fucking you up bad, understand?”  Grantaire nodded. Bossuet was a big guy. He wasn’t heavy so much as he was thick and muscular.  His arm was about the size of Joly’s waist, and he was at least six foot two.  He could have easily pummeled Grantaire, who was only about 5’9. Bossuet had gone to high school with Enjolras, and they were good friends.  He was not going to let anything happen to him.

         Joly looked up at Bossuet and kissed his cheek gently. He instantly softened and smiled at the smaller man.   

         “I think Enjolras needs some love right now.” He said, his big brown eyes shining with a smile. 

         “He needs a little more than love.”

         “That’s why I’m here.” Grantaire said, “I’m going to stay with him as long as he’ll let me and try to help him out…See if we can’t fix this on our own before a doctor gets involved…”

         “We’ll help you if you need it. We’ll do whatever we can.” Joly said warmly, twirling a tendril of his shoulder-length hair around his finger. His nails were painted a peachy shade of pink.  Grantaire made a mental note to try to convince Enjolras to paint his; it looked cute on Joly, though he was almost positive Jehan had done it.

         Grantaire smiled.

         “Thanks you guys…” he said as Enjolras peeked around the wall.

         “Ready for dinner?” he asked with a grin.

         “Starving.” Bossuet said, standing and walking into the kitchen to help Enjolras with the plates.  The apartment only had two stools at the counter as a dining space, so they decided it best to use the coffee table and eat in the TV room. Bossuet handed Joly his dish of pasta and Enjolras’ ‘world famous’ creamy French onion sauce, Joly’s favorite. Enjolras handed Grantaire a dish and resumed his seat next to him.

         “Thanks for the groceries, ‘Taire.” Enjolras said with a smile.  Grantaire smiled in return.

         “None for you, Enj?” Grantaire asked.

         “No, I’m not hungry.” Enjolras said meekly. He crossed his arms over his middle in an attempt to quell the hunger he felt.  _You can’t have this. There’s heavy cream in it. Why did Grantaire even buy that? He hates you.  He’s trying to make you fatter._   Enjolras felt like he had been hit in the stomach. ‘No.  Grantaire loves you.  He’s trying to help.’ He told himself.

         “Aw come on.  You made it special!  At least try it.” Grantaire said, offering him a few pasta shells on the end of his fork. Enjolras chuckled and took the mouthful, a warm flutter running through him when he saw how happy Grantaire was.

 

Grantaire offered him another pasta shell.

         “You eat it.  I made it for you.” He smiled.

         “There’s more in the kitchen.” Bossuet noted with a smile.  Joly nodded encouragingly. Enjolras looked like a cornered kitten.

         “One more.” Grantaire said quietly with a smile. Enjolras took it slowly, squeezing his eyes shut, tears running down his face as he chewed.

 

_Deplorable_

_Huge_

_Miserable_

_Nobody will ever really love you_

         “You’re doing great, Apollo.” Grantaire whispered in Enjolras’ ear. Joly stood up and ran to Enjolras, kneeling in front of him and taking his skeletal hands.  Bossuet hung back.  He wasn’t good at all this…comforting business.

         “You’re okay, Enjolras!  Keep going! You can do it!  We love you.” Joly said cheerfully.  Grantaire offered Enjolras another forkful, which he took, sobbing and seeming to struggle chewing.

 

_They’re lying._

 

Enjolras coughed on his tears.  Grantaire combed his golden hair off of his forehead.

         “Can you do one more?” Grantaire asked.

 

_Don’t do it._

 

Enjolras nodded, his inner defiance emotionally exhausting him.  Grantaire gave him one last fork of pasta before taking Enjolras into his arms and just holding him, letting him cry for as long as he needed. Joly returned to Bossuet’s side.

         “Great job, Kid.”  Bossuet said with a smile.  Enjolras continued to sob into Grantaire’s shoulder. He never cried in front of anyone. This was hugely embarrassing, but at this point, he had lost most of his remaining self-respect. He fainted on the floor of a public restroom after making himself vomit, for crying out loud. He could hardly manage to chew. There was a demonic version of himself living in his head assuring him that everyone hated him. Crying in front of his friends really didn’t seem all that bad to him just then.  They _did_ care about him. They _did_ love him.  No voice in his head could change that.


	5. Chapter 5

Grantaire was laying on Enjolras’ sofa, flipping channels and trying to drift off to sleep. He had promised not to leave Enjolras, and he didn’t plan to, even if that meant sleeping on his shitty futon.

         It was nearly one in the morning, and Grantaire was unable to sleep, though he was exhausted.  He was too worried Enjolras would do something rash…and it wasn’t long before he did.

         Grantaire heard Enjolras climb out of bed and cross the hall, heading into the bathroom.  He tried to give Enjolras the benefit of the doubt. ‘Maybe he’s just gotta pee.’ Grantaire thought, listening carefully.  It soon became evident that Enjolras had other plans.  Grantaire vaulted over the back of the sofa when he heard Enjolras gag.  He exploded through the bathroom door and grabbed Enjolras from behind, one arm around his chest, the other holding his hands so he couldn’t gag himself again.

         “Stop it!” Enjolras shrieked, struggling and kicking.

         “No!  I’m not letting you do this to yourself!”

         “Why do you care?!”

         “Because I love you!”

 

_No he doesn’t._

 

Enjolras writhed in Grantaire’s arms in an effort to get away from him, kicking and screaming.

         “I have to get rid of it!”

         “No you don’t!”

         “Let go of me!”

         “I’ll never let go of you if you don’t stop this! I promised you I wouldn’t leave you and I’m not going to!”  Grantaire shouted. Enjolras screamed as Grantaire held him, holding him close, protecting him from himself.  Enjolras jammed his heel up and into Grantaire’s lower stomach. He doubled over.

         “Enjolras it’s alright!  You’re alright!”

         “It can’t stay there!” Enjolras shouted. “It can’t stay inside me!” Grantaire said nothing, but fell back onto the futon, sitting and holding Enjolras in his lap, still making feeble attempts to get out of Grantaire’s hold, coughing and gagging. He was glad Enjolras was so much smaller than he was both size and weight wise.  Though Grantaire wasn’t tall by any means, Enjolras was positively petite and would have fit quite nicely in Grantaire’s lap, had he not been kicking and thrashing.

         Grantaire startled when he heard the door open.

         “Enjolras?!” Courfeyrac shouted. At just that moment, Enjolras passed out from exhaustion in Grantaire’s lap, and Grantaire looked up at Courfeyrac like a deer in the headlights.

         “What the hell are you doing, Grantaire?! I heard you shouting all the way downstairs!” he said, running to where he sat on the futon with Enjolras unconscious in his lap.

         “Sorry…I tried to stop him from yelling, but…”

         “Is he alright?”

         “He is now…I just didn’t want him making himself sick…”

         “Oh no has he started that? I never would have thought this of him...He seems so…put together.” Grantaire nodded, out of breath from his battle with Enjolras.

         “Good God you scared the shit out of me. I thought he was being murdered or something.”

         “No…” Grantaire laid Enjolras down on the futon and ran his hand through his inky curls.

         “I guess this is why he hasn’t been to any volunteer meetings lately…”

         “Yeah.” Grantaire answered simply.

         “You should bring him to a doctor. He’ll kill himself if he keeps on like this.”  Grantaire nodded. “He’s such a terrible perfectionist…If I know Enjolras, he won't stop until he's met goal..."

         “Yeah.” Grantaire said, “It’s time to get a doctor involved, I think…”

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire woke up before Enjolras the next day.  He had slept next to his Apollo on the futon to make sure he didn’t try to purge again.  He didn’t, and Grantaire was pleased.  When Enjolras’ eyes fluttered open, Grantaire was laying next to him, watching him sleep.

         “Morning, Sunshine.” He said with a smile. Enjolras snuggled up against him.

         “Thanks for staying.” Enjolras said quietly, ashamed of himself for acting how he did. 

         “My pleasure.”

         “I kicked you in the stomach.”

         “I don’t mind.” He smiled.

         “I almost threw up on you.”

         “That’s okay.”

         “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

         “I love you.” Grantaire said, kissing Enjolras lightly on the bridge of his slender nose.  Enjolras closed his eyes.  Grantaire smiled, watching as Enjolras drifted back off.  He climbed out of bed and went to the kitchen to start breakfast.

         “You like toast, Apollo?” he called. There was no answer. “Enjolras.” He said again. Again, there was no reply. Grantaire began to worry. He sat down next to Enjolras and gave him a light shake.  He didn’t stir.  "Enjolras!" he called, lifting his shoulders up off of the mattress and giving him another shake.  Nothing.

         “Oh shit.” Grantaire said, his eyes wide. He put his hand in front of Enjolras’ mouth, and was relieved when he felt breathing, but ran to the phone on the counter and dialed 911.

         “Yeah my friend passed out…He’s breathing but he’s out cold please help!...” he gave the address and hung up the phone, rushing back to Enjolras and holding his limp form as he waited for the paramedics.

 

*sorry this chapter is sort of short-ish!  I'll have the next one up soon :)  Say hello!  Leave a comment!  Makes me happy!


	6. Chapter 6

Enjolras woke up in a hospital bed, dressed in a pale blue gown, an IV taped to his arm. The first person he saw was Grantaire, sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his hand.

         “Hey Sunshine.” He said with a smile. Enjolras smiled back weakly, his eyelids heavy. 

         “What happened?” he asked.  “I remember laying with you…”

         “You passed out…I couldn’t wake you up and I just…I got scared…sorry.”

         “How long have I been out?”

         “About a day…  But I think they’re going to keep you here a while…”

         “Will you stay with me?”

         “Always.”

         “Did they call my parents?”

         “Nope.  I told them not to.”

         “Who brought the flowers?” Enjolras asked. “I haven’t been here all that long.” He smiled.

         “Jehan.”  Grantaire said with a grin towards the window, where Jehan was sitting on the heater.  He smiled and waved, his multiple bracelets and charms jingling on his skinny wrist as he did so.

         Jehan was an artist—a poet—and a complete and total bohemian.  His hair was naturally bright red and fell to his waist in its loose, flower-laden braid. He wore thrift shop clothes probably intended for young girls, and spent his free time in the park teaching free yoga classes.  He was enchanting, and everyone loved him, despite his painful shyness and awkward personality.

         “I grew the flowers on my back windowsill.” Jehan said proudly, however meekly. “And I brought you a book of renaissance era poems, too.” He added shyly, a smile in his odd green eyes as he stood and hugged Enjolras gently, his large, thin hands like butterflies sitting on Enjolras’ back.

         “Thank you, Jehan.  They’re lovely.” Enjolras said, admiring his flowers.

         “Sorry our flowers aren’t as nice as Jehan’s.” A third voice noted from the door.  Enjolras turned and smiled to see Marius and Cosette standing in the doorway with a bundle of flowers in a paper wrap from the store. 

         “I found you a cute balloon and a vase, though!” Cosette said lightly, sitting the glass vase on the bedside table and tying the end of the balloon ribbon to the bed.  Enjolras looked up at the small red hot air balloon on the end of the string.

         “My favorite color.” He said.

         “Cosette remembered.” Marius said, draping his arm over Cosette and giving her shoulder a squeeze.

“Courfeyrac and Combeferre dropped by earlier, too, but you were sleeping... They said to say hello!” Jehan noted with a smile. “Combeferre brought you a stack of books ‘to keep you entertained.’” Enjolras rolled his eyes jokingly.  Combeferre was always reading.

“Feuilly came by, too.  He felt bad he didn’t have the money for flowers or anything, but he brought you a fan he made.” Grantaire said, unfurling a beautiful paper fan, holding it over his face and making doe eyes at Enjolras, who laughed. 

Fueilly never once went to school and took up fan making as a hobby-turned-career. He sold many of his creations, but lived modestly in a small apartment above an old Laundromat where he did odd jobs for the owner, fixing machines and whatnot.  He and Jehan were kindred spirits, and spent a lot of time together.

         “Oh I almost forgot!  Eponine told me to give you this.” Grantaire added, fishing a plastic gift card out of his pocket.

         “What is this?” Enjolras asked, taking it and looking it over before chuckling and covering his mouth with his hand.

         “It’s to The Café Musain: unlimited free hot chocolate forever.”

         “She felt bad…” Grantaire said with a grin.

         “Oh you guys…!”  Enjolras cooed, his cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink. “You didn’t have to do any of this for me.”

         “Sure we did!  We love you.” Cosette said warmly, sitting on the edge of the bed and giving Enjolras hug.

And for once, The Disease had nothing to say.

 

~And bang goes part 1!  Chapter 1 of part 2 will be up tomorrow, I think... :)


	7. Part 2 Chapter 1

Enjolras had been in the hospital for three days, and Grantaire, as promised, hadn’t left his side. He stayed day and night, eating lousy hospital food and running out to rent movies for Enjolras to watch on his laptop.  Even the room had become vibrant with Grantaire’s presence.  Painting Enjolras, despite his current condition, became a daily practice, though of course Grantaire would only illustrate his head and shoulders so as not to upset his muse.  Enjolras even attempted to draw Grantaire, which proved humorous for both parties. Occasionally Grantaire would paint the view from Enjolras’ apartment or an open field of flowers and tack them up around the room, which lightened Enjolras’ spirits.

         Grantaire held Enjolras in his lap when the doctor came with meals, scales, and difficult news.  He held his hand when he needed blood drawn. He caught him when he passed out. He fed him when he swore he couldn’t eat any more.

        

But the worst came on the third day, when the doctor came in particularly serious, clipboard in hand.  Grantaire sat down on the bed and took Enjolras’ hand, winding their fingers together.

         “Alright, Enjolras.  A decision needs to be made.” He said. The doctor then looked down at his extensive pile of papers, flipping through the packet of charts and medical history.

         “This isn’t the first time you’ve had a problem like this, and because that’s the case, we have to treat this as a relapse. I cannot force you into treatment, and that’s where a decision comes into play.  I suggest you be emitted to a treatment facility where you can be monitored more closely.”  Enjolras listened, but was quiet for along moment after the doctor had finished speaking.

         “That would mean leaving.  I’d have to go somewhere I wouldn’t be able to live at home.”

         “Correct.”  Enjolras looked to Grantaire, pain and worry evident in his eyes. “Would you like to discuss…privately?” Enjolras shook his head and placed his head against Grantaire’s upper arm. "I’ll let you talk about it…” the doctor said, leaving the room somewhat awkwardly.

         “What do you think?” Grantaire said before putting in any of his own opinion.  He was worried what Enjolras would do if he heard what he thought…

         “I don’t want to leave.  I don’t want to leave…you.” He said quietly. “I need you, I won’t be able to do it without you.”  Grantaire shook his head.

         “I know you can do this.”

         “I can’t without you there.”

         “You can.  I know you can, Apollo.”

         “Do you think I should go?” he asked. Grantaire was quiet for a moment. He was dreading this question. If he said no, Enjolras would be happy. That’s what he wanted to hear. He wanted to stay at home, to continue on how things were.  He wanted to return to his routine of starvation and deprivation and depression. But if he said yes, he would be betraying his Apollo, the only person who ever mattered to him. His mother left him when he was three. His father was a drunk. Hell, _he_ was a drunk!  He wasn’t going anywhere until Enjolras.  He was his everything. His life.  His love.  He might lose his affections if he said yes. But Enjolras might lose his life if he said no.

 

Grantaire sighed before nodding slowly, holding Enjolras’ head to his shoulder as he began to cry.

         “But you’ll be here.” Enjolras said into Grantaire’s sweatshirt.

         “That’s right.  I’ll always be here.” He said, looking to Enjolras with a smile. “I’ll be here waiting for you to come back to me, and when you do, you’ll be even more wonderful than you are right now. I promise you I will wait for you. I don’t care if it takes a year. I don’t care if it takes ten years. Shit, it could take the rest of my life and I wouldn’t leave.  You need this. You need this for you and for the rest of your life and for everything you care about and love. And I’ll be here. And I’ll be waiting for you to come home to me, and you’ll be perfect, and you’ll be beautiful.”

         Enjolras looked up at Grantaire and smiled meekly as his artist brushed his tears away.

         “There’s a world beyond this, and I know you want to see it.”  Enjolras nodded, and Grantaire placed the lightest of kisses on his lip.


	8. Chapter 8

Enjolras held tight to Grantaire’s middle as they motored through Paris, Enjolras’ bag tied town to the rack on the back of the Vespa, filled with his necessary belongings. It had been one day since the doctor told him he had to leave.  He had spent a final night in his little apartment, comfortable, with Grantaire in bed beside him, knowing he wouldn’t get the chance to just snuggle again for a long while. He pressed his cheek against Grantaire’s back, feeling tears burning behind his eyes.

 

_You don’t have to do this, Enjolras. Nobody can force you to do anything you don’t want to do._

‘I have to do this.’ He thought to himself in an attempt to quell The Disease. ‘I have to get better. I have to get better for him.’

 

_He won’t love you if you’re fat._

 

He blinked the tears out of his eyes, letting them melt into Grantaire’s t-shirt. He held onto his artist tighter, frightened he might leave, disappear right in front of him. Grantaire felt cold tears through his shirt and looked back over his shoulder for a second, looking to Enjolras.

         “Love you, Sunshine.” He shouted back over the uneven bark of the motor as they sped down the street.

 

_He won’t when you get back._

 

His quiet crying became wracking sobs.  Though the engine covered the sound, Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ heaving breaths against his back, and it broke his heart to know his light, his love, was in such agony.

         “Don’t worry.” Grantaire continued, again, shouting over the engine.  “I’ll love you no matter what.”  And though the shouting took most of the emotion out of his voice, Enjolras knew he meant it.

 

—o0o—

 

The treatment center Enjolras was admitted to was the best available. Though Enjolras wanted nothing to do with his parents, Grantaire had called them and filled them in. Though his father was still very angry with him, Grantaire had convinced him, with the help of Enjolras’ mother, to pay for Enjolras’ treatment, for he didn’t make enough on his own to afford college tuition, his apartment, and the treatment he needed. Grantaire was overjoyed when they agreed to cover the cost, not to mention that they were sending him to the best place available.  Grantaire thought it looked more like a thirteen-star hotel than a treatment facility, complete with extensive gardens, multiple swimming pools, and a private suite for everyone staying.  Grantaire wished he could emit himself, if not for Enjolras, than for that monster swimming pool. He felt very out of place puttering down the cobblestone driveway on his shitty, 1959 Vespa 150 TAP. He pulled around back and parked, much to Enjolras’ dismay.  Grantaire took his hands as he slipped off of the motorcycle.

         “Hey,” Grantaire said, tilting Enjolras’ chin upwards so he could see his eyes.  “It’s gonna be fine.  I know you can do this, Apollo.” He smiled and picked up Enjolras’ duffle bag, carrying it over his shoulder and taking his hand as they walked inside.  Enjolras thought his knees would give out, shaking as he walked towards the counter where a pudgy woman sat with a smile. Her impossibly thick, brown hair piled atop her head in a tight bun. 

         “Welcome!” she said, standing and offering her hand to Enjolras, who shook it meekly, then moving onto Grantaire, who grinned. “You’re Enjolras, then?” she asked, consulting her desktop computer.  Enjolras made no reply.

         “Yup.  This is him.” Grantaire said, draping his arm around Enjolras’ shoulder and pulling him close.

         “Wonderful!  I’ll just have you sign here, if you don’t mind, Sweetie!” she said, far too cheerfully, handing Enjolras a pen and sliding a sheet of paper across the counter to him.

 

_Don’t do it.  You’re signing yourself away, Enjolras!_

He signed his name on the line.

         “We’ll also need an emergency contact, if you would. I’m not sure if that’s you, or…” she said, looking to Grantaire.

         “Yeah sure.” He said, writing his name—as neatly as he could with his terrible handwriting—and smiling as he filled in the ‘relation to patient’ box with ‘boyfriend’.  Enjolras noticed and grinned up at him meekly.

         “Lovely!” she piped, filing the paper and walking out from behind the counter.  “I’ll show you up to your room, Sweetie!” she said.  Enjolras looked back at Grantaire, fear flashing in his eyes. The woman seemed to notice. “You can come up too, if you’d like. Help him settle in.” she smiled at Grantaire. 

         “Perfect.” He said, picking up Enjolras’ bag again and following the woman to an elevator, holding Enjolras’ hand.

         “Not to worry, Sweetie!  We’ll have you feeling better in no time and back where you belong!” she said, seeing Enjolras’ worry.  “What do you like to do?” she asked after a long moment of quiet.

         “Volunteer work.” Enjolras answered quietly.

         “He likes writing papers, too.” Grantaire added jokingly.  Enjolras smiled up at him.

         “What about you?  I imagine you do something creative, considering your current attire.” She said to Grantaire, noting the paint on his jeans.  All of his clothes were completely ruined from paint. This pair just happened to be his ‘least gross’ so he wore them when he had to go out.

         “I paint.”

         “Lovely!” she said as the elevator opened on the second floor.  They entered a large common room, not dissimilar to the one in Grantaire’s dorm, though much more finely decorated.  Off of the single large room, there were three doors, all of which lead into a patient suite. Enjolras was number two. The woman held the door for him, and Grantaire followed, looking around at the extravagant crown molding and the view out the window. 

         “Man, ‘Jolras!  Wish I could stay here!” he said with a smile.

         “Me too.” Enjolras replied sadly.

         “The comfort of our patients is our top priority!” the woman said.  “I’ll let you get set up! Once you are settled, you can have a look around the place, if you’d like.  Treatment starts tomorrow, so you have the rest of the day to yourself.” She smiled as she left, closing the door behind her.

         “What a crackpot, huh?” Grantaire said when she left. “Never shuts up!” Enjolras laughed.

         “She was a bit too…happy.” He said, looking around, sitting on the bed.  It was far larger than his double at home.

         “Dude this is a queen sized bed.” Grantaire noted, sitting down next to him heavily, causing Enjolras to bounce up off the mattress. “It’s too bad I can’t stay. Imagine all the fun we could have in this—”

         “Grantaire!”  Enjolras cut him off, laughing. 

         "What?  I love you."  Grantaire stood and lifted him up off of the bed.  Enjolras clasped his hands behind Grantaire’s neck, and wound his legs around the artist’s strong waist then kissed him. Grantaire planted little pecks down Enjolras’ jaw.  Enjolras craned his neck, and Grantaire took advantage of the exposed skin as his Apollo laughed lightly, then leaned over and placed him carefully on the bed, gently pulling the elastic out of his golden hair.  It splayed out on the bed like a halo, and Grantaire couldn’t help but comb his hand through it.  Enjolras smiled as he kissed him, unable to contain his joy.  It felt nice to be really, truly loved.  He only wished he knew how to bring Grantaire the same joyous overflow he was experiencing.  He had never done any of this before.  He had never been in a relationship, and really didn’t know what to do. All he could do was show Grantaire his love in any way he knew how.

         Enjolras ran his hands through Grantaire’s hair as they kissed, his long, thin fingers catching in his tangle of inky curls. Grantaire ran his hands down Enjolras’ front, then slipped his fingertips under Enjolras’ shirt. Enjolras closed his eyes, a flutter radiating from Grantaire’s fingertips, but when Enjolras felt his shirt being peeled off, he bent his knees and pushed himself away, skittering across the bed and pressing his back up against the headboard.  Grantaire looked like a kicked puppy.

         “You okay?” he asked, looking up at Enjolras, who was near tears.  He nodded, taking a spare elastic from around his skinny wrist and pulling his long hair back into its usual untidy bun.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset, I guess I just…Got ahead of myself…” Enjolras smiled and made his away to Grantaire, sitting himself in his lap, running his hand down his cheek, over his rough stubble.

         “No.  No you didn’t, but I don’t want you to see me this way…Wait.  Wait until I’m better.  I’ll be beautiful for you.” He said, his eyes bright for the first time in a very long while.  Grantaire smiled and kissed him on the nose.

         “You’re already beautiful, Apollo,” he said, “But I’ll wait as long as you want. Let’s get you set up.  You don’t want to sleep on this old people comforter.  This thing is gross.” He said, pulling off the plain beige bed comforter and pulling out Enjolras’ vibrant red one, spreading it across the bed. Enjolras smiled.

         “I got you a present, too.” Grantaire added with a smile, fishing something or other out of the front pocket of Enjolras’ bag. Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

         “What is it?” he asked.  Grantaire tossed him the folded pillowcase, and Enjolras shook it out, laughing as he looked it over.

         “It’s my face.” Grantaire said. The pillowcase was, in fact, decorated with a cartoony rendition of Grantaire, which he had drawn himself in sharpie.

         “Thank you, ‘Taire!  I love it!” Enjolras said, sailing towards his artist and hugging him hard.

         “I’m glad.” He replied.

         “I love you.”

         “I love you too.”

Enjolras slipped the pillowcase over the fluffy pillow on the bed, then held it up to show Grantaire, who snapped a picture on his cracked iPhone.

         “Send it to Jehan, he’ll laugh.” Enjolras said with a grin.

         “Oh don’t worry everyone’s getting this. Your hair looks far too lovely not to share.” It was then Enjolras realized that his bun was at the very top of his head, Dolly Parton style. He planted his face in the top of the pillow.

 

~That chapter is much longer!!!  I'm keeping much better track of the length now that I've decided to post it!  Chapters might be a little farther apart post-wise now, though, as I'm caught up to where I've written!  Hope you like it!  Comment!  Comments are my favorite!  

By the way, here's Enjolras' pillow case:

http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2014/106/3/3/335297ea28f0ccfe9240556890246ab2-d7eqzq2.jpg


	9. Chapter 9

Grantaire stayed as long as he could, but eventually, he was asked to leave. The pudgy woman from the front desk knocked on Enjolras’ door at around nine at night.  Enjolras was nearly asleep in Grantaire’s lap on the bed when she opened the door.

         “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, but I’m afraid you have to head home.”  Enjolras sat up and looked to Grantaire tears in his eyes.

         “Kay.” Grantaire said agreeably with a smile, standing up from where he sat on the bed, taking Enjolras’ hand and pulling him into a tight hug.

         “You’re going to be fine.” He whispered to Enjolras, nuzzling his ear with his nose.

         “Will you be here to pick me up?”

         “Of course I will.  I’ll come as fast as my shit Vespa can get me here.” He grinned. Enjolras smiled meekly, looking up at Grantaire’s pretty green eyes. 

         “Don’t cry.” He said, brushing away Enjolras’ tears with his thumb.  “You’re too lovely to cry.”

 

_You won’t be when you get out of this hell hole._

 

“Love you.” Enjolras cooed through his tears.

“I love you too, ‘Jolras.” Grantaire said, kissing Enjolras’ golden head.

 

Then he left…and Enjolras had never felt so alone in his entire life.

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire cried all the way home.  He pulled over at one point, his eyes so clouded he couldn’t drive.  Enjolras was his life, his reason for living. What was he going to do now that he was gone? 

         ‘It’s for him.  He’s got to get better.’ He told himself, feeling guilty for being so selfish. He didn’t want Enjolras to go. He wanted everything to just go away, to be normal.  He wanted to snuggle up on the sofa at night.  He wanted to surprise him with flowers when he came home from work.  He wanted to paint him in his pajamas and making tea and pulling back his hair.  He wanted to know all of his quirks and bad habits.  He wanted Enjolras to know how much he loved him, and he was sure his Apollo was worried the love would be gone when he returned. 

         Grantaire wiped his eyes and slipped his helmet back on just as the light turned green.  His eyes fogged again as he passed Enjolras’ street, driving back to campus, to his lonely, empty dorm room. 

         When he got in, he figured he would try some homework to get his mind off of everything…Enjolras.  He sighed and flopped down onto his bed in the corner.

         ‘Trigonometry…your favorite.’ He said to himself sarcastically.

 

He fell asleep looking through old drawings of Enjolras he had shoved into his math textbook.

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire woke up with a start at the sound of his phone shouting a voice recording of Enjolras saying ‘Pick up it’s Apollo!’  Enjolras’ apartment number.  He leapt out of bed and dove for his phone on the nightstand, knocking over a stack of textbooks, which subsequently hit him on the head.

         “Mother fu—” he hissed, grabbing the phone and smiling out of habit.  “’Jolras!” he said, picking up the phone.

         “No, dipshit you dropped him off yesterday.” Feuilly’s voice replied.  Grantaire sighed, remembering.

         “Why are you using Enjolras’ phone?” he asked, running a hand through his hair, then picking up the books he had knocked over.

         “Me and Jehan were talking and we thought it’d be fun to surprise ‘Jolras.  Come over Joly and Bossuet are on their way.”

         “Why?”

         “Just come.” He hung up.  Grantaire sat up and sighed, putting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

         “Guess that means I have to put actual pants on today after all.” He said to himself.  “Sorry, jammies.”  He kicked off his flannel Van-Gogh pajama bottoms.  _The Irises_ was his favorite painting, and Jehan had somehow gotten it onto pajama pants for him last birthday.

 

Once he was dressed—if you can call destroyed jeans and a shirt covered in oil paint dressed—he headed down the stairwell and out to his Vespa, then puttered over to Enjolras’ apartment.

 

—o0o—

 

He heard giggling before he even opened the door, and almost puked on the floor when he saw Feuilly and Jehan in the middle of a kiss that most certainly involved tongue in the kitchen.

         “So I guess you two are an item now.” Grantaire said loudly to make his presence known.  Jehan startled and screamed, then fell into Feuilly, laughing. “Why the hell did you wake me up? I was going to wallow in my misery with some Netflix and a handle of vodka.” He said, sitting on the counter. “But now I have to clean your spit off of Enjolras’ floor.

         “Um, excuse me, I don’t slobber, that’s Feuilly’s spit.” Jehan said, struggling to keep a straight face.  “And I hope you’re ready to paint because we’re re-decorating!” he piped with a grin, hopping up on his toes, all of his flyaway hair bouncing with him.

         Jehan was really something different. To begin with, he was short; only about five-foot five-inches.  His parents were hippies, and nobody was surprised Jehan turned out much the same. He had never had a haircut, yet his hair was a healthy light brown-red, as well as very long.  He always kept it braided loosely, and could often be seen sporting a crown of flowers he had grown himself on his windowsill.  It wasn’t rare to find him in some sort of flow-y poet-sleeved shirt or going barefoot on the sidewalk.  He even sported the occasional skirt, if it had enough flowers embroidered into it.  He took up the flute in elementary school, and was the only boy to ever do so.  In fact, his picture was in the paper for it. Most of the people who didn’t know him thought he was a girl, but he didn’t seem to mind. He rarely spoke to people outside his sphere of friends, and didn’t care to.  He was terribly shy with new people.

         Feuilly was odd as well.  He was orphaned when he was very young, and had never been to school.  He took up fan making and sold his creations at art shows and little shops down town, but earned most of his money doing odd jobs for his neighbors.  He was tall and thin, and had a small apartment above a Laundromat. He was a free spirit, quiet and relatively mellow…A fellow of few words. His hair was a deep dark brown, but his eyes were light, contrasting with his tanned skin.  He spent quite a lot of time outside working. It was strange to see him and Jehan next to each other: Jehan was small, white, and soft, like a lily, and Feuilly was tall and clumsy and cast in bronze, contrasting with Jehan’s lightness. Jehan was a flower, and Feuilly was the flowerpot, framing the beautiful bloom but attracting little attention to himself.

         “We got red paint.” Feuilly said with a his crooked grin.

         “Red is his favorite, but I don’t know if we should put it _everywhere_ …”

         “It’ll look like a fucking brothel if we put it everywhere.” Grantaire said.

         “Well you’re the artist, where do we put it?” Jehan asked with a smile, handing Grantaire a paintbrush.  He looked around, thinking…

         “Ceiling.” He said after a moment. “And a stripe around the room.” Jehan smiled.

         “Oh that’s wonderful!  I’ll get the ladder from the laundry room!” he cooed.

         “What a pain in the ass.”  Feuilly said blandly, looking up at the ceiling, taking a paint roller from the table and opening a can of paint, standing on the table and beginning the ceiling.  Grantaire smiled.

         “This is a good idea, Jehan.” He said. “He’ll love this.”

         “He’s always so busy doing things for other people…He never does anything nice for himself.” He replied, lugging a ladder down the short hall. 

         Joly and Bossuet arrived moments later, Bossuet with a red nose, Joly with a canister of Clorox wipes, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

         “Hey guys.” Bossuet said with a meek smile, his nose stuffy.

         “Hey.  Got a cold?” Grantaire asked, painting the corners of the ceiling against the wall. He had been trusted with the job as the artist.

         “Yeah.”

         “Oh poor baby!” Jehan said. “I can run and get tissues if you need…”

         “Nah I’m set.” He replied, pulling a wad of tissues out of his pocket.  Joly stood against the doorframe, his hands clasped around his can of wipes, touching as little as possible.

         “You doing okay, Joly?” Grantaire asked, genuine, but with a grin.  Joly looked at him, wide eyed.

         “I think I might have meningitis.” He said.

         “Viral or bacterial, Joly?” Feuilly asked sarcastically.  Joly didn’t catch the joke.

         “Almost certainly bacterial.  I’m probably going to die.”

         “Oh my Lovely!  Come here.” Jehan said, setting down the ladder and sitting on the sofa, opening his arms to Joly, who reluctantly sat on Jehan’s knee and allowed himself to be comforted.  “You’re alright, Joly. Lay down, I’ll get you a ginger ale.” He took Joly’s head gently in his arms and laid him down, covering him with Enjolras’ ‘snuggle blanket’, which he kept on the back of the sofa.     

         “Sorry, Love.” Bossuet said, peeking over the back of the sofa and smiling at Joly.  He returned the grin meekly.  Jehan returned with a glass of ginger ale, sparkling with bubbles and ice. He set it on the coffee table beside Joly.

         “You rest, Baby.  You’ll feel better, I know it, Lovely!” Jehan said, smoothing Joly’s hair back with his hand and winking up at Bossuet, who chuckled quietly.

         “I do hope so…Perhaps it’s just viral meningitis…” Joly said, having a sip of his ginger ale.

         “Enjolras has lots of saltines, too, if you get hungry, Baby.” Jehan added before standing and setting up the ladder. He then ascended and sat on the top, reaching up and painting flowers in the corner.

         “Don’t do that, Jehan, we’re just going to have to paint over it.” Feuilly said.  Jehan frowned, blinking his big, blue eyes sadly.

         “Nah leave it.” Grantaire said, looking over at Jehan’s flowers.  “They’re cute ‘Jolras will like it.  We’ll paint around them.

         “I like them, too.” Bossuet said, taping up the wall for their red stripe.  Jehan smiled and continued to paint his petals. 

         “Don’t squash his hopes and dreams, Feuilly.” Grantaire whispered to him as he painted.  “He’s a delicate little thing, he’ll break.”  Feuilly laughed lightly.

         “I didn’t even know I was into guys until I met that kid.” He said with a smile.

         “Dude, all guys are into Jehan. He’s like a cute little fairy princess.”

         “I always wanted to be a fairy princess…” Jehan said dreamily from the opposite corner where he painted.

         “I’ll totally make you a pair of wings next sculpture class.” Grantaire said with a grin.

         “Would you really?!  I want big ones!”  Jehan said with a chuckle.  Fueilly laughed.

         “Hey Joly,” Grantaire said after a bit. Joly looked up at him, his eyelids heavy.  “Want to go for a ride? I feel like we need to get ‘Jolras new furniture or something to go with the paint job. Slip covers for the sofa and like…I don’t know shelves and shit.  House stuff.”  Joly sat up slowly, holding his head.

         “Fresh air might do me good…This sofa isn’t aligned with the poles, anyhow.” He said, standing with a grin. “Last week was my birthday, so I’ve got some money.” He added.

         “I just sold a few paintings. I’ll get it, don’t worry about it.” Grantaire replied.  “I spend more time here than Enjolras.  I should pay for the shit I’m going to use.” He chuckled.

         “Get pretty things!” Jehan called as they opened the door to leave.

         “Hey Bossuet, can I take your car?” Grantaire asked.

         “Yeah go ahead.” He said. 

         “Thanks.  Vespa doesn’t like shopping.”

         “That piece of shit doesn’t like running, either.” Feuilly added.  Jehan giggled. Grantaire flipped him off as he closed the door.

 

~Aaahhh so much random!!!    
  
I love Jehan.  I just have this head cannon that he's really smart but comes across as a ditz and loves flowers and pretty things and he's pretty much a five year old girl and I love him so much.

By the way, here's Enjolras' pillow case in case you missed it last time:

http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2014/106/3/3/335297ea28f0ccfe9240556890246ab2-d7eqzq2.jpg

Okay I'm done now.


	10. Chapter 10

Enjolras woke up the next morning to something touching his cheek.  He smiled, waking, but not opening his eyes, and shifted closer to the source of the touch.

         “Hm…Grantaire.” He hummed to himself, allowing his eyes to flutter open.  Much to his dismay, he was alone in a strange place; the loving caress of his cheek was nothing more than his hair on his face.  He felt tears filling his eyes as he looked at his pillow, Grantaire’s cartoony face grinning up at him, his eyes a lovely Sharpie-green. Enjolras ran his hand over doodle-R’s cheek.

         “I miss you, ‘Taire…” he said to his pillow, wiping the tears out of his eyes.  “I wish you were here with me.”

 

_Why?  This is his fault._

 

The thought came like a blow to the chest.  ‘what?’ he thought, ‘how is this his fault?  It’s my fault.’

 

_He’s the reason you’re here. You pass out all the time, he shouldn’t have brought you to the hospital._

‘He was worried about me.’ Enjolras attempted to combat The Disease, though his efforts were always futile.  The Disease always won out in the end.

 

_He couldn’t stand to look at you anymore. He doesn’t love you, Enjolras. Nobody could love you when you look like this.  He put you away so he doesn’t have to deal with you._

‘that’s not true…’ he thought to himself, tears gushing down his cheeks, making them red and sore.

 

_Of course it’s true! He drove you here, you idiot! He talked you into this!_

‘No he didn’t—’ his thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by a young man peeking around the doorframe.

         “May I come in, Enjolras?”

         “Yes.” He replied, flipping over his pillow and wiping his eyes.  The man entered his room, holding a clipboard and a scale, two of Enjolras’ least favorite things.

         “I’m Dr. Listolier.  I’ll be your psychiatrist while you’re staying.” He explained, an awkward smile on his face.  Enjolras was immediately skeptical, but took his hand and shook. “I wanted to introduce myself before our first session this morning.  I’ll let you get ready and meet you downstairs in the lobby.  Then I’ll show you to my office.” He smiled, pushing up his glasses before leaving the room again.  Enjolras sighed and got out of bed, getting dressed and brushing his hair, cleaning up in the bathroom, and finally meandering downstairs where Mr. Listolier was waiting for him.

         “Good morning, Enjolras!” he said cheerfully.

         “Morning.” Enjolras replied with hardly a smile. He played with his ponytail draping it over his shoulder.

         “If you would follow me, my office is just outside.” He said, holding open a glass door leading out onto a large deck surrounded by flowers.  Enjolras immediately thought of Jehan.  How he wished he could see him; to laugh with him or watch him chase butterflies.

 

_Jehan isn’t an idiot like you. He wasn’t forced to come here._

 

Enjolras bit his lip.

         “So tell me why you’re here.  I’m sure you know, but elaborate.  Do you think you need to be here?” Enjolras raised an eyebrow and looked away.  ‘is this guy serious? What is this, French Literature? Do I have to write you an essay detailing that question?  Arsehole.’ He thought.

         “I don’t know.” He replied thoughtlessly.

         “Why don’t we start with your family. Do you have siblings?”

         “No.” Enjolras said simply.  Though he usually woke up early and thrived in the morning, just then he wanted nothing more than to go crawl back into bed and burrow into his blankets. He wanted to snuggle with his Grantaire pillow.

         “Do you get along well with your parents?”

         “No.” he hoped Mr. Listerine or whatever his name was didn’t press the subject, but of course he wasn’t so lucky.

         “Why is that?”

         “My dad doesn’t approve of my beliefs, and my mother is too passive to do anything about it.” He explained, leaving out as many details as possible; leaving out the fact that his father had hit him last Christmas.

         “I see.  Do you live with them?”

         “No.  I have my own apartment and attend university.  I haven’t seen them since Christmas.”

         “Do they know that you’re here?” he asked.

         “Yes.”

         “Are they aware of your condition.”

         “Yes.”  Mr. Listolier sighed and ran his hand through his hair before holding open his office door for Enjolras, who stepped inside mechanically, walking in physically but emotionally detached and wandering.

         “Would you do me a favor and take off your shoes?” the doctor asked.  Enjolras kicked off his red Chuck Taylors.  He knew this meant getting weighed, but at this point, he just wanted to get this all over with.  “Now step up…Thank you.” The doctor said, pulling a pen out of his pocket and recording Enjolras’ height and weight.  103 pounds, five foot four inches.  He quietly congratulated himself; that was the lowest he had been since his junior year of high school, when he started treatment for the first time.

         “You’re at the eighth percentile…Your BMI is 17.7, and you are 162.5 centimeters tall. Very small, for someone of your age, did you know that?”  Enjolras did not reply. He simply crossed his arms over his chest. “The average for someone your size is about 130 pounds…I think, because you’re so petite, you should be healthy at about 120.  How are you feeling about that?”

         ‘what the fuck do you mean by that?! I feel terrible! If I gain seventeen pounds I’ll be a fucking whale.  This is ridiculous! I want to go home!’

         He shrugged, stepping off of the scale and sitting down on the chair in the corner.

         ‘I’m going to die.’ He thought.

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire pulled off of Enjolras’ street and kept his eyes peeled for tag sales. Being an artist, Grantaire saw inspiration in everything.  Tag sales were infinite sources of cheep creativity.  Second hand didn’t mean bad.  It meant ‘paint it a nice color and nobody will know it’s old’. 

         Joly was quiet for a while, looking out the window for garage sales, until his phone vibrated.

         “Who is it?” Grantaire asked.

         “Courfeyrac.” Joly replied, sounding the slightest bit distressed.

         “What’s wrong?  Is he okay?”

         “Yeah…He was wondering if Combeferre was at Enjolras’.”

         “He lives right downstairs.  Why doesn’t he just go up?”

         “He wanted to know if he was there before he went up.”

         “Has he got a problem with Combeferre?”

         “No, he just…He was telling me the other day he wants to ask Combeferre out, but he afraid to…He’s been avoiding him all week.”

         “That sucks.” He said simply. He wasn’t very good with relationship drama, but he could respect Courfeyrac’s situation.  Grantaire never thought he would be able to ask Enjolras—Enjolras…

 

His mind wandered. How was his Apollo doing? Was he miserable? Were they being too hard on him? He hoped they hadn’t made him cry. Grantaire bit his lip. His poor Enjolras. He wished he could switch their places, so that he might have to go through this difficult recovery and save his love the hardship.  He suddenly felt seriously about having a drink…

         “Tag sale!” Joly said, pointing. Grantaire pulled over.

 

—o0o—

 

Jehan had finished painting flowers all over one corner of the ceiling and adjoining walls, creating a garden of red flowers and leaves.  Bossuet was painting around them carefully, being sure not to paint over any of the petals.  Feuilly continued the ceiling with the roller.  They were almost finished with the ceiling of the main room, and Jehan thought it looked beautiful.

         “This is so lovely!  Enjolras will be so happy!” he cooed, his hands clasped under his chin as he spun around, looking at the room, his flow-y shirt twirling, revealing his slender middle.  Feuilly smiled just as Courfeyrac peeked around the door.

         “Can I come in?” he asked with a grin. Jehan smiled.

         “Of course you can, Lovely!” he replied, running at Courfeyrac and hugging him.  Courfeyrac smiled.

         “Grantaire texted me…well…told Joly to text me—to buy a slipcover, so I got one.” He said.

         “Will it fit over the futon?” Bossuet asked, blowing his nose.

         “The hideous futon?” Feuilly added.

         “Feuilly it’s a lovely futon!” Jehan said, “It just needs love!” he smiled.  Feuilly grinned and walked up behind Jehan.  He pulled him close, his arms around Jehan’s lady-like waist. 

         “I think it fits.” Courfeyrac said, sliding the plain white cover over Enjolras’ second-hand futon.

         “I think it needs flowers.” Jehan said, looking at it critically, his hands on his hips.

         “Only if it were your sofa, Jehan.” Feuilly said with a grin.  Jehan smiled at him.

         “Let’s paint it.  Grantaire left his bag, I’m sure there’s paint in there.” Courfeyrac suggested.

         “That sounds fun.  Think he’ll mind?” Bossuet asked, opening Grantaire’s bag and searching through it for paint, which he shortly found.

         “There are only three colors. What are we supposed to do with that?” Bossuet asked.

         “Mix them together to make more colors.” Courfeyrac said with a sarcastic sort of smile.  Bossuet blushed.

         “I knew that.” He said with a chuckle.

         “What do we paint on it?” Jehan asked, taking a paintbrush in his thin, white hand.

         “Whatever you feel like, I guess.” Feuilly said, painting a large paper fan in blue paint in one of the corners.

         “Can I paint a bird?” Bossuet asked.

         “Only if I can paint a sky for him to go in!” Courfeyrac chuckled, adding sunset pink clouds.

         “I think we need flowers.  Red ones.” Jehan cooed with a grin, grabbing a brush. “Enjolras loves red.”

 

An hour passed, and soon their slipcover was completely obscured by flowers and birds and poems and clouds and little portraits Jehan added.  Most everything was red, though other colors snuck in here and there: Bossuet’s blue bird, Jehan’s happy yellow poem.  They left it to dry on the floor, and Courfeyrac flopped down onto the chair in the corner.

         “Can’t do much else until Grantaire and Joly get back. We painted everything.” Courfeyrac said.

         “Joly just texted me.  They’re on their way back.” Bossuet said from his seat on the ataman.  Jehan sat in Feuilly’s lap, and Feuilly ran his hand through his long, red hair.

         “Where’s Combeferre, Courf?” Feuilly asked. “You two are usually together.” Courfeyrac blushed.

         “He went home for break…He's coming home late tonight.” He explained.

         “Oh I wish I could see my mom and papa.” Jehan said dreamily, his eyes closed.

         “You live nearby, Jehan.  I’ll drive you home, if you want.” Feuilly said.

         “They’re away doing social work…” Jehan said with a smile.  He seemed nearly asleep.

         “Well that’s nice of them.” Bossuet said, sniffling and blowing his nose again.

Grantaire pushed the door open with his back, carrying a box of, well…everything.

         “What’d we miss?” he said with a grin, followed shortly by Joly, who carried another, smaller box and some wood planks for shelves.

         “We painted the slipcover you asked for.” Courfeyrac said.

         “It was Jehan’s idea, but he’s a sleepy baby and can’t tell you himself right now.” Feuilly joked.  Jehan was fast asleep in his lap.

         “Bossuet, head down to the truck, I got a bookshelf but I can’t get it up the steps.” Grantaire said, putting his box down heavily on the floor.  Jehan jumped, but smiled when he saw Grantaire.

         “Did you get everything?” he asked.

         “Yeah we went to like ten tag sales it was great.” Grantaire explained.

         “We only spent 152 euros!” Joly cooed, sitting down on the sofa, tapping his fingers on his metal leg.

         “Bang goes that painting.” Grantaire joked with a smile, sitting on the floor and looking through his box.

         “What did you get?” Jehan asked, sitting on his legs next to Grantaire.

         “I found this neat old floor lamp someone was throwing out.  It’s in pieces, but I figured Feuilly would be able to figure it out…” he said, taking out a metal rod attached to a floor stand.  Next he pulled out a hook that slid into the top of the rod, and finally a lantern that hung from the hook, a light bulb and wires hanging off the end.

         “That would be really neat if it were actually a thing.” Jehan said with a grin.

         “I’ll fix it.” Feuilly said, taking the lamp pieces and going to work behind the sofa, out of the way.

         “What else is there?” Jehan asked.

         “There’s this big quilt.” Joly said, pulling out a folded quilt made of lots of red squares of all different sizes. “It needs a wash, but it’s nice! No rips or anything!” he said with a smile, proud of his find. 

         “I got the bookshelf.” Bossuet called from the hallway. Courfeyrac opened the door for him.

         “Where do you want it, Grantaire?” Courfeyrac asked, taking the end of the bookshelf, so as not to damage the floors.

         “Bedroom.” Grantaire said.

         “Oh are we going to do the bedroom too?” Jehan asked.

         “I am…I’m gonna do it myself.” Grantaire said with a smile.

         “Oh how sweet of you!  You’re such a lovey, Grantaire!” Jehan chirped. “Enjolras is so lucky to have you.” Grantaire smiled meekly.

         “Oh, this is for you, Jehan.” Grantaire said, reaching into the box and pulling out a very sad potted plant. “Someone was giving it away. They said they killed it, but I think you can save it.” He explained.  Jehan smiled, taking the clay pot and looking at the small, deadish plant.

         “Oh I can help you, Little Friend!” he said, pouring the leftover water from their painting project over the little plant. He grinned and set the plant onto the coffee table.

         “There are those planks for shelves, too.” Joly said.

         “Oh yeah we have to hang those. I think the two short ones in the bathroom and the three long ones in here on that wall.” He said pointing to a wall currently occupied by a large painting Grantaire had done of Enjolras. “I’ll make two more paintings to go with that one and put them all together over the sofa.” He explained.

         “You’re good at this, R.” Courfeyrac said, clapping Grantaire on the back.  “You should be an interior designer instead of a kid book illustrator.” Grantaire shrugged.

         “I like cartoons too much.” He explained.

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire left Enjolras’ apartment later than he intended to.  He had been painting portraits of his marble muse and lost track of time, but decided it best to head back to his dorm room at around eleven when he couldn’t bear to think about Enjolras anymore. He could no longer concentrate properly; couldn’t see Enjolras in detail well enough to paint him without wishing he was there.  His eyes fogged.

 

When he got back to his dorm room, he immediately headed for his bed, but he didn’t sleep. He reached behind his headboard and pulled out a sealed handle of whiskey he swore he would never open.

 

He broke the seal on the cap and took a swig.

 

The immediate warmth the alcohol provided radiated through his being, and the familiar feeling of drunkenness seeped into every inch of him after another three swigs. The spinning in his head intensified until he was too dizzy to sit up, and still he could see Enjolras. He laid back into the corner between his headboard and the wall, sobbing uncontrollably, drinking the whiskey like water, sobbing, until he passed out.  
  
  
~This chapter is very long!  poor Grantaire!  Don't do it, baby!  You don't need to start drinking again!    
  
I am so terribly mean!


	11. Chapter 11

“You’re alright, R.  I’m here, you’re okay.” Combeferre said, rubbing his hand in little circles between Grantaire’s shoulder blades, his other hand holding back his hair as he put his head back in the toilet.

 

Combeferre’s dorm room was just below Grantaire’s.  They were the only two students in their dorm who were not currently home from break, and Combeferre decided to say hello to Grantaire, as he had been home for the weekend.  This morning, though, Combeferre found Grantaire asleep, sitting up in bed with his back in the corner, a pot from the kitchen in his lap.  He had obviously been sick already when Combeferre arrived, as his sweatshirt was dirty and thrown on the floor in a heap; Grantaire couldn’t reach the washing machine without falling over.

 

After cleaning him up a bit, Combeferre had helped him to the bathroom so that he wouldn’t make a mess of the house.  He sighed.

         “You were doing so well.  What happened?” he asked gently, letting Grantaire flop back against him on the bathroom floor until the next bout of nausea reared its head. Grantaire started crying again for the second time since Combeferre arrived.  Grantaire had consumed an incredible amount of alcohol, and was still drunk even after hours of sleeping. 

         “I don’t know I-I jus-s-t wanted Enjolras to come h-home.” He explained through his tears, his words slurring together. Grantaire had been an alcoholic from his sophomore year of high school all the way up until his sophomore year of college, which he was currently attending.  He had been consistently buzzed for just shy of three years. Because of this, his tolerance for alcohol was extremely high.  He could down an entire six pack of beer without batting an eye.  That’s why Combeferre was so worried.  Grantaire must have consumed an incredible amount of alcohol in order to get this smashed.  He was hardly making sense and couldn’t keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time.  When they were open, they searched in circles, as if watching something fly around the room. Combeferre guided him back to the toilet as he began to heave again.

         “I know you want him back, R, but he’s getting better there.  He’s getting better for you. You have to get better for him, do you understand?” he asked.  Grantaire nodded, fumbling with the handle on the toilet for a few seconds before flushing it and flopping back into Combeferre. 

         “I think I’m done.” He said, still sobbing.

         “Okay…Come on, I’ll get you on the couch and you can watch TV or something…” Combeferre said, helping Grantaire up off the bathroom floor, lifting him up under his arms.  Together, they stumbled to the sofa where Grantaire flopped down right onto his face.  Combeferre lifted his head and slid a pillow under him, then pushed the hair away from Grantaire’s sticky face.  He took the elastic from around Grantaire’s wrist and pulled his inky curls into his usual stubby ponytail.  “You okay now?” he asked.

         “Mm hm.” He replied, his eyes closed, his head swimming.  “Can I have something to drink?”

         “Yeah…Water okay?” he nodded lazily against the pillow.  Combeferre handed him the glass carefully, making sure he could hold it himself before letting go. He sat down beside Grantaire on the edge of the sofa, running his hand up and down his back. Grantaire promptly fell asleep, his phone buzzing on the coffee table just a moment later.  Combeferre picked it up and punched in Grantaire’s number lock: 1832.  He figured he would answer the text, explaining that Grantaire was asleep and would get back to whoever it was.  He was surprised when he saw that the message was from Courfeyrac. 

 

Courf>8:41 – I’m going to tell him today.  I’m going to ask him to coffee and tell him I promise I’m going to for real now.

 

Combeferre bowed his eyebrows.  _Tell who what?_   He tapped back:

 

Me>8:41 – Wait what?

 

He replied, proud of himself for texting in Grantaire’s usual confused manner.

 

Courf>8:42 – Shut up stupid!  Combeferre we were talking last night remember? 

 

Combeferre wasn’t sure what to do.  He smiled to himself, though, thinking about Courfeyrac.  They were always together and enjoyed each others company. He never thought Courfeyrac would take any real interest in him, though, as he was always flirting with everyone. He never meant any harm by it, but Combeferre was sure he’d choose one of them over him.  Now, though, he was pleasantly surprised.

 

Me>8:43 – Go for it.

 

He replied with a smile.

 

Courf>8:43 – I’m going to right now.

 

A few seconds later, Combeferre’s phone vibrated in his pocket.  He smiled wide, picking it up.

 

Courfeyrac!!!>8:44 – Hey you.  Wanna go for coffee or something?...Tomorrow morning?

 

Me>8:45 – It’s a date ;)

 

Courfeyrac!!!>8:45 – Really?!  Love you!!!!!

 

Me>8:46 – Love you too <3

 

Grantaire’s phone buzzed

 

Courf

To: Me, Joly, Jehan>8:48 – He said yes!!!!!

 

Jehan

To: Me, Joly, Courf>8:49 – Oh that’s wonderful Courfeyrac!  Love you baby!!! <3 <3 Was it lovely?! Tell me everything call me later Lovey!!!

 

Joly

To: Me, Jehan, Courf>8:49 – Yay!

 

Combeferre grinned, biting his lip to keep from laughing joyously and waking Grantaire. He replied:

 

Me

To: Joly, Jehan, Courf>8:50 – I’m glad :)

 

Combeferre smiled, his head in the clouds, until Grantaire sobbing brought him back to reality.

         “You okay, R?” he asked, rubbing his back.

         “I want to die.” He replied.  Combeferre sighed.

         “No you don’t.  You have to live!  Imagine how upset Enjolras would be if you died.” He said. 

Grantaire had attempted suicide in high school.  Combeferre was the only one of the group who had attended the same high school as Grantaire, and was therefore the only one who knew. He was there when he tried to jump off the overpass, and thank goodness, he was.  He grabbed Grantaire and pulled him back from the edge just before he let himself fall.  Of everyone, Grantaire most certainly had the most tragic past.  Even Feuilly, who never knew his parents, wasn’t as miserable a child as Grantaire.  His mother , who was only 17 when she had him, cheated on his father, who was also seventeen, with her drug dealer; she was gone by the time he was three.  He didn’t know it until his father told him in a drunken rage when he was ten that he was born addicted to crack because of his mother’s drug habit.  His father beat him whenever he was drunk, which was almost always after his mother left, so he spent most of his time in his little bedroom, going to school as if nothing was wrong. Eventually, his father mellowed out and just slept off his drunkenness instead of taking it out physically on Grantaire. That was about the time Grantaire began drinking himself.  Everything went downhill from there.  He was lucky he was intelligent; otherwise, he wouldn’t have gotten into college at all and would be at home, drinking himself to death in his little bedroom.

Grantaire nodded, trying very hard to keep his eyes open.

“Maybe we could just die together.” He said, his words slurring terribly.

“I’d be sad if you and Enjolras died.” Combeferre replied, knowing Grantaire wouldn’t remember any of this later.  He ran his hand up and down Grantaire’s back.

“I’d be sad if I died too.” He mumbled in reply.  “But I’d be really sad if Enjolras died.  He’s my favorite.” Combeferre laughed.

“You really love him, huh?” he said with a grin.  Grantaire nodded into the pillow.

“I really, really love him a lot…I drew pictures-s of him hav—” Combeferre slapped his hand over Grantaire’s mouth.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He said with a smile.  He really didn’t want to hear about Grantaire’s potentially dirty drawings.

“He’s really pretty.” Grantaire said, hiccupping.  Combeferre ran to the kitchen and grabbed a pot from the cabinet just in time for Grantaire to retch again.  He hung his head off the edge of the sofa, his arm dangling, his knuckles brushing the floor. “Don’t tell him I was-s, um, d-drinking again, okay? He’ll be sad.” Grantaire said. Combeferre smiled at him meekly, brushing the curls off his clammy forehead.

“Okay.” He agreed, more to shut Grantaire up than anything else. Enjolras would find out, whether Grantaire told him or someone else did.  He ways found out.

“I-Imma go to sleep.” Grantaire mumbled, his head still hanging off of the sofa.

“Okay.” Combeferre stood up with a sigh, rinsing out the pot in the small kitchen sink before returning to Grantaire, who was already asleep.

 

—o0o—

 

Enjolras was really starting to become annoyed.  Dr. Listolier was with him, quite literally, all day.  He could hardly leave his room without the doctor escorting him everywhere.  Because Enjolras had a history of purging, he wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom without a doctor to make sure he didn’t make himself sick.  He wasn’t allowed to shower without an escort outside either. The only privacy he had was in his room, when he was sleeping. 

         Eating was also becoming a problem. He had to eat a certain amount every day, and he had to finish everything presented to him, regardless of how full he felt.  He swore he would be sick more than once from the sheer volume of food, and had on the first night. The amount only increased, and his stomach was in almost perpetual pain. 

         On the third morning, he woke up and just laid in bed for as long as he possibly could, staring at the ceiling, hugging his Grantaire pillow to his chest until Dr. Listolier ruined everything with a knock on the door.

         “Breakfast, Enjolras.” He said without bothering to peek in. 

         “Okay.” Enjolras grumbled in reply. He sighed heavily and sat up, then brushed his hair and pulled it back into a ponytail, as usual.

         When he opened his bag to find something to wear, he was surprised to find a mysterious green sweatshirt shoved into the bottom. He pulled it out and smiled. It was Grantaire’s, and safety pinned to the front was a folded piece of paper.  Enjolras took it off carefully and opened it.

 

_Hey Sunshine!_

_I shoved this in here to surprise you.  I put some of my cologne on it because I know you like it._

_I hope you’re doing okay._

_Love you._

_~R_

 

At the bottom of the page was a portrait of Enjolras laughing.  He brushed a tear away from his eye as he smiled and pulled the sweatshirt on over his head, snuggling into it like a cocoon, pulling his hands inside and smelling Grantaire on the sleeves.  He was suddenly more excited to be awake…

 

Until breakfast.

 

A bagel. A plain bagel with peanut butter, jelly, a tiny bowl of strawberries covered in sugar, and a glass of milk.

 

Worst nightmare.  
  
Dr. Listolier sat across from him at the little table, watching intently as Enjolras pushed the strawberries around in the little glass dish.

         “Having a good morning so far, Enjolras?” he asked with a smile.  Enjolras didn’t answer. He only picked up at strawberry on his fork and ate it carefully, slowly.

 

_Sugar is bad.  Sugar is calories and fat and will make you more disgusting._

 

         “Tell me what you’re thinking.” The doctor prodded. Enjolras wanted to stab him with the fork.

         “I’m thinking that I’m not going to be able to finish this.” He said, trying his best not to sound harsh, though he most certainly did.

         “And why not?”

         “It’s too much food.  I can’t hold all of it.” Enjolras explained, his voice raising from a low grumble to a growl.

         “I think you can do it.” He said, sounding far too enthused.  Enjolras hated how damn happy everyone was here.  This place was a nuthouse, but the crazies weren’t the patients…

         “I don’t think I can.” Enjolras insisted, pushing his strawberries around in little sugary circles.

         “Try.  You did it yesterday morning, remember?”  ‘of course I remember, you dipshit!  I’m not five!  _C’est des conneries_!*’  Enjolras ate another strawberry reluctantly. He loved strawberries…He had ever since he was very little.  At least they were easier to eat than that bagel would be. 

         “Finish the bagel. It’s only a half.” ‘yeah, half a bagel with two inches of peanut butter on top.’ He thought to himself.  He tore off a piece of the bagel with his long, careful fingers and ate it slowly, peanut butter oozing through his teeth. He cringed. 

 

“Well done, Enjolras.” Dr. Listolier said with a smile as he swallowed the last bit of bagel, having the smallest sip of milk to rid the top of his mouth of the sticky stuff.  His stomach hurt.  Too much, too full, too many calories, too much fat, too much everything. He felt like a glutton.

“I’ll let you off with half your glass of milk today, fair?” the doctor asked.  ‘Do I get to dump the rest on you?’ Enjolras thought with a smile that the doctor took as agreement. 

Enjolras pulled his hands into Grantaire’s sweatshirt and placed them over his mouth casually, trying not to make it obvious that he was sniffing his sweatshirt.

 

—o0o—

 

Combeferre stayed with Grantaire all day, sitting with him while he slept, getting him cups of water and comforting him when he became distraught. 

 

By 11:00 in the morning, Grantaire had come out of his drunken stupor. Even so, he was just as miserable.  He laid on the sofa, his face to the backrest, facing away from the TV, the Lord of the Rings serving as the background music for his pathetic existence.

         Combeferre sat in the armchair next to the sofa, texting back and forth with Joly and Jehan and Courfeyrac, mostly about Enjolras and Grantaire, as they were the current hot topic.  After tapping back and forth idly for a while, Combeferre put his hand on Grantaire’s ankle to wake him up. Grantaire’s eyes shot open and he sat up, startled.

         “Hey.” Combeferre said with a smile.

         “What?” Grantaire mumbled, flopping back down onto the pillow, his shirt laying on the floor beside the sofa.

         Grantaire wasn’t especially attractive in face or body.  He wasn’t particularly tall or muscular.  Compared to Enjolras’ smooth, hairless chest and arms, he was a freaking caveman, awkward neck beard and all.  He hadn’t shaved since Enjolras left; he didn’t see any reason to, and secretly hadn’t taken a real shower, either, but he hadn’t actually gone anywhere besides his sofa and his bed, so it didn’t matter. 

         He wasn’t out of shape, but he wasn’t in it, either; trim with a squishy sort of middle, strong arms good for hugging but not for muscle shirts.  He was the perfect example of ‘scruffy’, in need of a shave and a haircut.  He had big feet, big hands, and the only really, truly beautiful thing about him were his unusual green eyes.

         “Get a shower.”

         “If you don’t like the way I smell, leave.” Grantaire mumbled in reply, his nose in the pillow, his hair fluffed out around his head like a mop.

         “No come on. Courf and Jehan are going out for ice cream.  Joly’s coming too, and they want you to come.

         “No they don’t.”

         “They do! Here, look.” He said, showing Grantaire his phone.  “Jehan says: ‘Combeferre wake up Grantaire!!!  The poor sweetie he needs a treat!  I’m paying!’ then Joly said ‘Please get him to come.  Getting out will be good for him.’ And Courfeyrac send a smile and a heart and said ‘please wake him up, love.’  Do you really want to blow all of them off?  Come on. Get up and stop being a bum.”

         “Maybe I want to be a bum.”

         “I don’t want you to be a bum.” Combeferre said, taking Grantaire’s hand and trying to pull him off the sofa.  Grantaire let his arm go limp.

         “I don’t care.”

         “ _Enjolras_ doesn’t want you to be a bum.” Grantaire felt his heart hiccup. “Go get a shower. We’re going to get ice cream.”

         “I don’t want to.”

         “I don’t care, get up!” he said with a huff.  “I’m going to start the shower, and I want you in it.  I told them we’d meet them at noon.” He left the room, leaving Grantaire alone to wallow in his misery.

         “Shit.” He sighed, sitting up and rubbing his face with his hands, his head pounding. “Combeferre do you know when Enjolras comes home?” he called as the shower started up.

         “When he’s better.”

         “Yeah I know, asshole. I mean a date.” He grunted in return.

         “They’ll call you to pick him up when they think he’s ready to leave.” Combeferre came out of the bathroom and grabbed Grantaire’s wrists, hauling him up and off of the sofa.  He pulled him into a hug. Combeferre was a few inches taller than Grantaire, and far bonier.  He wasn’t skinny, per say, but he was all knees and elbows. He was bookish and awkward, and wore thick square glasses.  Grantaire put his head onto Combeferre’s shoulder, but didn’t return the embrace; his arms were only for Enjolras.

         “You can do it, R. We’re all here for you. We’ll get through this, okay? You’ll feel better if you get out and get your mind off of everything.”  Grantaire nodded into his shoulder, sniffling.  “Now get in the goddam shower you smell like a caveman.” Grantaire laughed.

 

—o0o—

 

Combeferre and Grantaire walked down the block to the little ice cream parlor on the corner, where Jehan, Joly, and Courfeyrac were already sitting at a picnic table, waiting for them.  Jehan was the first to greet them, standing and throwing his arms around Grantaire, who had obviously been crying.

         “Oh, Lovely! I’m so happy to see you! You smell like sunshine!” he said with a smile, a crown of flowers in his hair.  _Sunshine_. That’s what he called Enjolras, his Apollo, his light.  He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

         Courfeyrac came over next and offered Grantaire a smile, then hugged Combeferre for a long time, rocking back and forth.

         “I’m so happy.” He whispered in Combeferre’s ear.

         “I’m happy you’re happy.” Combeferre said in return with a smile and a kiss on Courfeyrac’s upturned nose.  “You’re a real cutie, you know that?” he said, releasing Courfeyrac and sitting on the table, his feet on the bench.  Courfeyrac sat next to him, placing his head on his shoulder.

         “Sit down, R!” Joly said with a grin, fixing the flowers in Jehan’s hair, kneeling on the picnic table bench, his prosthetic leg sitting slightly awkwardly underneath him.

         “Oh…Yeah.” Grantaire stammered awkwardly, sitting on the end of the bench.

         “What do you guys want?  I’m paying.” Jehan said, hoping up and off of the bench, his flow-y shirt moving like water in the air.

         “You don’t have to pay for me, Jehan.” Joly said, fishing around in his pocket for cash.

         “No I want to!” he said, smiling. 

Jehan was an only child, and his parents were very wealthy, though you wouldn’t know it by their lifestyle. It was old money that had been in the family for years, and because Jehan’s parents didn’t really need to work to support themselves, they spent their time volunteering and traveling to impoverished places in the world for charity work.  By looking at Jehan, one would assume he was a whacked out art student who had no money to spare and lived in a Goodwill, but in reality, Jehan received quite a large allowance every month from his parents, which he usually used for treating his friends and giving to the poor in the underground. Occasionally, though, he saw something he _must have_ and bought things for himself, like the pair of pink floral skinny jeans he was currently wearing, which cost him just under 300 Euros at Free People, his favorite ‘new-clothes’ store, as he put it.

         “Are you sure, Jehan?” Courfeyrac asked.  Jehan nodded.

         “Just order I’ll take care of it!” he said, giggling.  

         “Okay, okay, fine!” Joly said.  “I want a small twist with a chocolate dip!” he said.

         “You next, Courfeyrac!” Jehan cooed.

         “hm…Strawberry, I think.  A small one in a cup.” He said with a smile.

         “Make it a large and we’ll share it.”  Combeferre added with a grin.

         “What do you want, Grantaire?” Jehan asked, standing on his toes at the nigh slide window into the little ice cream parlor. 

         “I don’t want anything.” He mumbled, looking at the ground.

         “Yes you do, Lovely. If you don’t order something, I’ll order something for you.” Jehan said, turning to look at Grantaire. He made no reply.

         “I’d like a small lemon ice, please.  And Grantaire wants a banana split.  A big one.” He said, smirking at Grantaire when he rolled his eyes.  The girl behind the counter handed Jehan everyone’s ice cream and he passed the cones around.

         “Thank you, Lovely!” he said to the girl at the counter, giving her what was due, as well as a hefty tip.  Then he sat next to Grantaire and gave him his split with a smile.

         “I don’t want this.” He said.  He lied. He just felt guilty that Enjolras was probably miserable and that he shouldn’t be happy without him.

         “Yes you do. These are your favorite. It’s even got the little strawberries on top how you like.” Jehan said, taking a spoonful of his lemon ice. Grantaire sighed, tearing up again, and began eating his ice cream, managing a smile at Jehan.

         “Don’t be sad, Grantaire.  Everyone makes mistakes, and you’re being very brave and trying very hard and I love you.” Jehan said, craning his long, white neck to kiss Grantaire on the cheek.

         “I miss him so much…I’ve only been really…like… _with_ him for a few days, but…I need him so much…I just…my life is just pointless without him here.” Grantaire said, a tear falling into his ice cream.  He took a massive spoonful and sucked on it.

         “He’s getting better for you, Grantaire.” Joly said, wiping some soft serve off his nose. “He loves you so much. He’s never loved anyone as much as he loves you.”

         “He used to talk about you all the time.” Combeferre said, taking a spoon full of his strawberry ice cream.  Courfeyrac nodded in agreement.

         “He always used to say how he wished you would come volunteer at the middle school and how he wanted to see you more.  We all used to make fun of him for it because he wouldn’t admit he liked you, even though we could all see he did.” Grantaire smiled, a blush playing across his cheeks.

         “It’s really strange. He’s so pretty, but you’re the only person he’s ever really loved.” Jehan said with a smile. “He’s like an angel. His hair is like a halo.”

         “I’ll bet he’ll be home soon.” Joly said, “He’s always been so determined, he’ll be home soon.”

         “I hope so…” Grantaire said, his mouth full of ice cream.

         “So I heard you threw up on Combeferre this morning.” Courfeyrac joked.  Grantaire planted his forehead on the picnic table. They all laughed, save Joly, who looked terribly worried.

         “Why? Are you alright?” he asked.

         “Yeah I’m fine I fucking drank too much last night.”

         “Oh.” Joly said, smiling briefly to himself, knowing that whatever Grantaire potentially had wasn’t contagious. 

         “I’m such an idiot. Why did I do that…?” Grantaire asked himself aloud.

         “It’s okay, R.” Courfeyrac said, sitting on Combeferre’s lap, sharing their ice cream.  “You’ve been doing great.  It’s just a little slip up.”

         “Yeah don’t worry about it.  We’re here for you.” Combeferre said.

         “I don’t want you to have to hold me up while I puke.” Grantaire said jokingly at Combeferre, who smiled.

         “I don’t mind. I just want you to get better.”

         “It will be so wonderful when Enjolras comes home.  You’ll be better and he’ll be better and you’ll both be lovely together and so, so happy.” Jehan said, his charming, angelic smile making Grantaire laugh.

         “I’m glad you guys made me get my lazy ass off the couch.” Grantaire chuckled.  
  
~Yay, ice cream!

*C’est des conners means 'this is bullshit', in case you wanted to know.


	12. Chapter 12

It was around ten in the morning, and Enjolras was sitting in the common room, reading on the sofa.  Reading had always been one of his favorite pastimes, and Combeferre had given him a stack of classics when he was in the hospital, so he was never short of material.  He was reading _Notre Dame de Paris_ , and was finding it quite enjoyable, despite the dark overtones.  Just as he was beginning to really get into his reading, someone flopped down on the sofa next to him, sending Enjolras bouncing on the cushion. He looked over the top of his book and glared at the young man sitting across from him.

         “Hey.” He said with a grin.  Enjolras retreated behind his book.  “What’re you reading?” he asked, trying to make out the title between Enjolras’ skinny fingers.

         “ _Notre Dame de Paris_ ” Enjolras replied curtly, wishing to get back to his story.

         “Hugo. He’s a cool guy. I’m Bahorel, by the way.” He said with a smile.  Enjolras looked up at him and smiled briefly.

         “Enjolras.” He replied.

         “What are you in for, Pretty Boy?” he asked with a sarcastic sort of grin.  Enjolras, realizing he wouldn’t be allowed back to his reading any time soon, closed his book and set it on his lap.

         “Anorexia nervosa and body dysmorphic disorder.” He said simply, looking down at himself. He had been here a week, and he was beginning to understand just how unhealthy he was.  He no longer saw himself as too large around the middle, and his thighs seemed to shrink in his mind’s eye, going from massive and disgusting to stick thin and unhealthy.  He was starting to turn around…He wanted to get better.  “What about you?” he asked, making conversation.  He hadn’t had much contact with anyone else on his own accord, and actually felt like speaking to someone besides Dr. Listolier for a while.

         “Bulimic.” He said with a sad sort of grin.  “I’ve been here a while now, though…I haven’t purged in over a week, now.”

         “Well that’s good.” Enjolras said with a genuine smile.  Bahorel looked Enjolras up and down, taking him in. Though Enjolras didn’t see it, he really was beautiful, with pale marble skin and a lovely, delicate face. He was like a renaissance sculpture, a statue of an angel in a church.  After a week of eating normally, color was returning to his face, and he cheeks took on a healthier fullness, no longer so sunken and sallow.

         “You got a girl back home, Enjolras?” he asked, “I’m sure you get lots of attention from the fairer sex.” He smirked.  Enjolras rolled his eyes.

         “Why do you say that?” he asked, humor in his voice.

         “I don’t know. Wish I looked like you. You’re…I don’t know…pretty, I guess.”  Enjolras laughed. 

         Bahorel wasn’t hideous by any means.  He was tall and well built; it was not obvious that he was ill.  His hair was dark and curly, and his skin was clear and swarthy.

         “Thank you!” he laughed.  “But I do not have a girlfriend.  I’m not interested.” He continued.  Bahorel raised an eyebrow.

         “Not interested?” Enjolras shook his head, re-tying his ponytail so it wasn’t so loose.  “Do you have anyone at home?”  Enjolras nodded, picking at his fingernails. 

         “Grantaire.” He said with a smile, more to himself than to Bahorel.

         “Ah I see. _You’re_ the lady in the relationship.” He said sarcastically. Enjolras was slightly taken aback by his crudeness, but chuckled nonetheless.

         “I guess so. I think it’s just the hair, though.” He said, adding to the joke.  “Do you have a girlfriend, then?”

         “Used to…She got sort of freaked out when she found out I…you know…I had eating problems. Your lucky you’ve got someone waiting for you back home.”  He nodded, wondering how Grantaire was fairing.  Maybe he didn’t have anyone waiting for him…Maybe he had moved on, forgotten about his Apollo.  Enjolras pushed the idea from his mind.

         “Well…you seem friendly enough.  Maybe she’ll see how far you’ve come in your recovery and date you again.”

         “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” he laughed.  “It’s alright. I’m living with my parents, so I’ve always got them.”

         “That’s good.” Enjolras said, his own parents crossing his mind.  They probably hadn’t thought about him since Grantaire called. They didn’t care at all for him…

         It was then that the chubby woman from the front desk entered the room through the elevator. She looked to Enjolras and smiled.

         “You’ve got some visitors, Sweetie!” she said happily.  Enjolras’ heart leapt.  ‘Grantaire.’ He thought with a wide smile, standing with his book and following her, giving Bahorel a little wave.

         “Have fun!” he said, taking the opportunity to put his feet up on the sofa and recline against the arm.

         “They’re very excited to see you, Sweetie!” the woman said as they rode the elevator. Enjolras couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face.  Grantaire had come to visit him, and maybe the others as well!  How he wished to see Joly and Jehan, how they laughed, how Joly made jokes about his missing leg, using it for pranks. He missed Courfeyrac’s clumsiness and Combeferre coming to his rescue.  He missed Bossuet’s bear hugs and Feuilly’s quiet aloofness. He was so excited to see them, it took a great amount of willpower not to laugh or jump or dance.

         The elevator seemed to move at a snail’s pace, taking millennia to reach the lobby. When the door opened, Enjolras stepped out with a smile, looking for Grantaire, but his smile vanished in an instant. Sitting on the sofa near the front desk were Enjolras’ mother and father, looking grave and wholly unexcited. His mother stood up when she saw him, tiptoeing to him as quickly as she could in her ridiculous heals and giving him a hug, which he reluctantly returned.

         “Oh my baby…Are you alright?” she asked, holding him tight.  She was taller than him, with her four-inch heals, and he felt quite small in her arms, like a child.

         “I’m okay, Mom.” He said quietly, disappointed.  He felt as though all of his organs had suddenly turned to lead and were sitting in the bottom of his torso, weighing him down.

         His father hung back, standing, but not approaching, his face emotionless and stern, his once deep brown hair almost completely grey.  Enjolras looked away from him when his mother released him. The chubby woman had gone into the back room, leaving Enjolras alone with his parents; alone with his father.

         “Claude…” His mother prompted, drawing the man’s attention to Enjolras.  He approached with a heavy sigh.

         “Hello, Enjolras.” He said simply, devoid of feeling.

         “Hello, Pap…” he replied in hardly a whisper, the emotional sting of his father’s backhanded slap still rattling in his consciousness.  He looked at the floor.

         “You’ve allowed yourself to become this way again.  Don’t you remember high school?” the man asked, his voice losing it’s control, becoming louder and more threatening.  Enjolras recoiled.  His mother stood quietly, pretending not to hear.

         “Sorry, Pap.” Enjolras said, biting his lip, holding his book far too tightly behind his back, his palms sweating. 

         “This is ridiculous, Enjolras!  You’re more intelligent than this!” the man said.

         “Claude, please just—”

         “Quiet, Emilie.” He barked, holding his hand up to his wife’s protest. “This better not happen again, you understand?” he growled at Enjolras.

         “I can’t exactly control it.” Enjolras spat back, losing his composure.  He had feared his father long enough.  He was done.  Something needed to change.  He needed to be free from the weight that was his parents. 

         “Don’t talk back to me, boy!  You’re lucky we’re paying for this _again_!”

         “I’m sorry you’re _wasting_ your endless sea of money on my health.”

         “I’ve had just about enough of you!  Emilie this is ridiculous! I don’t have time for this.” He said, looking to his wife.

         “Just give him a hug, dear.” She said to her husband with a smile.

         “No I don’t want him to.” Enjolras said, taking a step back from his father.

         “You’re a brat, you know that?!  You’re a spoiled brat.”

         “Why thank you, you’re making me feel so wonderfully about myself.  You’re really helping my mental condition.” He tossed back.

         “If you sass me one more time, I swear I’ll—” Enjolras turned his back and started toward the staircase, giving his mother a quick hug as he passed her.

         “Bye, Mom.” He said with a small smile before starting up the stairs.  He looked back to his father and said nothing.

 

 

As soon as he was back in his room, he pressed his face into his pillow and sobbed.

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire’s week had passed at a snail’s pace. Though he had enjoyed re-decorating Enjolras’ apartment with the others, he felt so terribly lonely all the time, no matter whose company he was in.  He had started drinking again, and his friends decided it would be best if he stayed with one of them to make sure he stopped and didn’t drink at night when nobody was around

         Jehan had volunteered happily to share his house, and that’s where Grantaire was now, flipping channels on the TV, laying on the sofa. 

         Jehan’s parents paid his rent on a town house he had all to himself, complete with a maid and a cook.  It had two bedrooms, three bathrooms, a large living room, a dining room, and a home theater, which Grantaire was sitting in currently, with a high end, comfy sofa made for snuggling.

         Jehan knocked on the door before coming in and sitting next to Grantaire, whose knees were bent up against his chest.  Jehan leaned over and placed his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.

         “How are you doing, Lovely?” he asked.  Jehan had been upstairs taking a shower, and Grantaire noted his flowery scent, but he thought little of it.  It was about ten at night, and truthfully, Grantaire was too tired to think about anything.

         “Okay.” He said simply, struggling to keep his eyes open.

         “You can sleep upstairs in a bedroom, if you feel like it.” Jehan offered, sitting Indian style on the sofa, his feet bare.  He wore pale blue pajama bottoms and a big tee shirt that hung off of his petite frame. His wet hair was in a messy sort of bun on the top of his head.

         “Nah I’m okay here.” Grantaire replied.  “I like this couch.”

         “I’ll sleep in here too.  It’ll be like a sleepover!” he cooed, hurrying from the room before Grantaire could protest, coming back a moment later with a sleeping bag he spread out on the plush carpet.

         “You don’t have to, Jehan.”

         “I want to. I don’t want you to feel lonely.” He said with a smile, snuggling up inside his pink flowered sleeping bag and laying on his back.

         “mind if I listen to the TV?” Grantaire asked.

         “Not at all, Love.” He replied quietly, sleepy. 

         “Hey…Thanks for letting me stay with you.”

         “I like the company. It gets a little lonely when I’m all by myself.”  He explained, closing his big blue eyes. 

         “You’re lucky you’ve got a house all to yourself.”

         “You should move in with me.  I mean, if you don’t move in with Enjolras when he gets back.” Jehan said with a little giggle.

         “Not paying for room and board would be nice.” He said, smiling.  “Thanks for the offer.” Once he found a channel he was okay with, he set the sleep timer for an hour and turned so that he was facing the back rest.

         After being quiet for a while, Grantaire turned back to face Jehan.

         “Hey, Jehan…uh…What…I mean, how much have you and Feuilly…like…done…?” he asked. “I mean, you don’t have to say if you don’t want, I was just curious, but it’s cool if you don’t feel like—”

         “Not much.” Jehan broke in.  “you know, just sort of making out and snuggling, sort of…I mean, it might be weird for a 20 year old, but I haven’t really done anything more than that with anyone…why do you ask?”

         “Just curious…I’ve never been with a guy before…”

         “We’re all just people, Grantaire.  Love doesn’t change with gender.  It’s always just love.” He said.  “Just make sure whatever you do, it’s what you both want.”

         “You ever dated a girl?” he asked.

         “No…I’m not sure why, though…”

         “It’s called being gay, Jehan.” Grantaire joked.  Jehan giggled.

         “I don’t _feel_ gay, though. I don’t feel like anything…I just feel like Jehan.” He said.  “I don’t really think I need to be anything except for Jehan.”

         “That’s why I like you.” Grantaire said.  “You don’t care what anyone else thinks of you.”

         “Everyone is allowed to think whatever they’d like…I just try to be kind to everyone and everything, that way nobody has a reason not to be friendly back.” He yawned. “I think I might fall asleep now, R, if you don’t mind…I’m a sleepy baby!” he cooed, smiling.

         “Night.”

         “Night-night!”  
  
  
~I can't decide if I like this chapter or not...what do you think?


	13. Chapter 13

The next day, Jehan and Grantaire headed over to Enjolras, apartment to continue working.  Jehan re-painted the dated, wooden table a bright white, then took all of Enjolras’ laundry, including the new red quilt Joly found, and brought it to the Laundromat. Grantaire finished the paintings he had been working on, and hung them neatly above the sofa, then moved on to Enjolras’ bedroom.

         The room was terribly bland.  The walls were white, and his bed was made with just a sheet, as he had taken his blanket with him when he left.  The only other decoration was a dresser with a mirror hanging above it, and another, full-length mirror hanging on the closet door, right next to a scale. 

         Grantaire furrowed his thick eyebrows when he saw that deplorable piece of machinery. That scale had caused Enjolras so much pain and fear.  Grantaire took it in his hands, and slammed it against the ground as hard as he could with a feral roar.  It smashed into pieces, and Jehan shouted in the doorway, dropping the laundry basket.

         “What was that?” he asked, slightly frightened.  Grantaire said nothing and looked down at the destroyed scale.

         “Oh.” Jehan said, reassuming his sunny demeanor.  “I did the laundry!” he cooed, tossing the heavy quilt over the bed and putting the clothes away in Enjolras’ dresser.  “What are you going to do in here anyhow?”

         “I don’t know yet…He hasn’t got furniture or anything…Just this bed and the dresser.”

         “Shopping time!” Jehan sang.

         “I don’t have the money to buy furniture.  I wasn’t planning on getting any new stuff…”

         “Oh don’t worry, Lovely, I’ll take care of it.” Jehan said with a smile.

         “How? There is no way your parents give you that much money.” Grantaire said with a chuckle.  Jehan reached into the bag hanging at his side and pulled out an—unsurprisingly—floral wallet.  He dug around for a moment before pulling out a card.

         “Emergency credit card.” He said with a smile.

         “I wouldn’t exactly call this an emergency…”

         “Of course it is! Enjolras needs a cozy chair for the corner!  And new drapes! And a bajillion other things! This is most certainly an emergency. Nobody should have to live in a stark white house!” Jehan said very seriously, but chuckling as soon as he finished. Grantaire laughed.

         “Whatever! Your money, not mine.” He said. “Come on, then.”

         “No wait Feuilly has a truck we should have him come so we can bring stuff home.”

         “Alright fine.” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes with a smile.  Yes, Feuilly had a truck, but he also had Jehan’s heart.  That meant Grantaire was about to turn into a third wheel.  Not that he really minded.  Jehan and Feuilly were always good for a laugh.  Jehan was just so lighthearted and happy, and Feuilly was so stern and quiet, their clashing personalities were the source of many misadventures.

 

—o0o—

 

Feuilly drove to a small furniture boutique Jehan had used when he decorated his apartment: custom upholstery, custom chairs, custom beds, tables, everything.  The place was covered in fabric of every shade, color, and pattern.  Grantaire was immediately overwhelmed, but Jehan seemed right at home.  He walked right up to the little counter and the old woman at the desk looked up at him and smiled.

         “Hello, Jehan!” she said with a smile.  “Re-decorating again?”

         “This time for a friend.” He returned the smile. 

         “Well what can I do for you?”

         “I need a cozy chair. You know, those lovely ones that are nice and big and snuggly, like the one in my living room.”

         “That blue one? I remember that! There’s one in the showroom, but I’ll reupholster it if you’d like.”

         “Oh lovely! Um…I don’t know…what color do you think, Grantaire?” he asked, turning away from the woman at the counter.  Grantaire shrugged, looking around absently at all of the patterns and colors.

         “Well look around, and I’ll go fetch the chair for you.” She said with a smile, standing and leaving the desk through a door that lead into the showroom.

         “I like this one.” Feuilly said, pulling out a swatch of a deep burgundy fabric with velvet florets. Grantaire shrugged. Jehan wrinkled his nose.

         “It’s too dark. I like this one!” Jehan said, unrolling a sunny yellow pattern. Grantaire shook his head.

         “Nah…That’s too…bright for him.” Grantaire said, looking around.  “I think this one is best.” He said after a long moment, pulling out a roll of fabric.  It was a deep red with the occasional thin, white stripe.  He smiled.

 

—o0o—

 

“Come on!  You can do it!” Jehan called from the top of the staircase, standing on his toes and picking at his painted fingernails as Feuilly and Grantaire struggled up the stairs with the armchair.

         “Shut up, Jehan.” Grantaire grumbled.

         “Don’t tell him to shut up!  I’ll drop this on you.” Feuilly said.

         “Sorry! No, please no!” Grantaire replied as Feuilly jokingly ‘dropped’ his side.  Jehan giggled.

         “Feuilly you’re my hero.” He said.  Feuilly smiled at him from behind the sofa.

         “Stop whispering sweet nothings and get this damn thing into the house before I have an aneurism!” Grantaire shouted, holding up the back of the large chair.

         “Sorry, Lovely!” Jehan cooed, holding the door open for them and clapping when they finally placed it down in Enjolras’ bedroom.

         “It matches perfectly!” Jehan said, leaning into Feuilly, who wrapped his strong arms around Jehan’s slender middle.

         “Yeah. Yeah it does.” Grantaire said with a smile, his hands on his hips.  “With Joly’s old red curtains, it’ll be perfect.” He added.  Grantaire grinned, thinking how lovely the _real_ surprise would look sitting on that chair. He contemplated telling Jehan and Feuilly, but that would ruin the surprise…They would have to wait until Enjolras got back.  He grinned.

 

—o0o—

 

A month and a half passed, and sophomore year was over. Enjolras had finished his classes via mail, as he wasn’t allowed internet access. Grantaire had barely squeaked past trig with a D+, and everyone else continued with their lives as usual.

         Jehan wouldn’t let Grantaire leave.  He knew he’d drink if he let him go home.

         Enjolras had found a sort of friend—a sarcastic, vulgar, crude friend—in Bahorel, and had continued speaking with him for the past weeks. 

         Enjolras had also gained a considerable amount of weight.  Though he had gone down to 96 pounds in the second week, refusing to eat, he recovered quickly, going from 96 pounds to 103 pounds to 118, putting him back into the ideal BMI.  Color had returned to his face, and his hair had returned to its glossy golden sheen. His depression had subsided as well, and he found that he actually liked the way he looked.  He wasn’t so embarrassed to be without a shirt, as he had gained not only pounds, but muscle.  He wasn’t exactly ripped, but he looked rather lovely in a bathing suit. His ribcage no longer protruded unnaturally from his chest, his stomach had lost its grotesque concavity, and he could no longer reach all the way around his arm with his fingers. Best of all, the Disease hadn’t tormented him in weeks.  He was largely himself again, and he loved it.

        

Enjolras was sitting in his room, finishing his final exams that his teachers had sent him for the end of the year, when there was a knock on his door.

         “Come in.” he called. The chubby woman from behind the front desk peeked around the door.  “Hello, Zephine!” he said with a smile.  He had gotten to know most of the staff rather well over the past month and a half, and particularly enjoyed Zephine, who not only worked at the desk, but as a therapist.  He had spoken to her on many occasions when he was feeling badly or lonely.  He told her about the situation with his parents, about his school, how much he loved to volunteer, and all there was to know about Grantaire. She had also sat with him during meals when he was being particularly indignant, mostly in the second week of his stay when his relapse had reached rock bottom.  She was like a mother figure to him during his stay. 

         “Hello, Enjolras!” she said, returning the grin.  “I was just speaking with Dr. Listolier.” She said, entering the room and closing the door behind her.  Enjolras looked up at her, slight worry in his eyes.  Had he done something wrong?  Had he lost weight again?  He wasn’t permitted to see the scale for fear that the number would trigger an inverse reaction.

         “What did he say?” Enjolras asked, taking the elastic band from around his wrist and pulling his curls up into a messy sort of bun.

         “He said to pack your things up.  You’re being discharged.” She explained with a grin.  Enjolras smiled wide.

         “Really? Now?”

         “Tomorrow. I came to see if you wanted me to call Grantaire, or if you’d like to do it yourself.”

         “I’ll call him.” Enjolras said immediately, unable to keep the smile from his face. He hopped from the bed and held the door for Zephine, who lead him down the stairs and to the front desk where she handed him the phone.  His hand shook.

         “You alright, Sweetie?” she asked with a chuckle.

         “Wonderful!” Enjolras said, dialing Grantaire.

—o0o—

 

His cellphone rang. Grantaire rolled over on Jehan’s sofa. When his brain finally kicked into gear and he fumbled around in his pockets, looking for his phone, finally seeing it on the coffee table and diving for it.

         “Hello? ‘Jolras?” he nearly shouted into the phone.  That was his response every single time he didn’t recognize the phone number. He had scared quite a few solicitors over the past weeks.

         “Hey Grantaire!” Enjolras’ voice said quietly.  Grantaire could tell he was crying.

         “Oh my God I miss you so much.  Are you alright? You sound like you’re upset. Is everything okay? Oh God are you miser—”

         “No! No I’m happy, R! I’ve been discharged. I’m coming home tomorrow, so you better be here at 8:00 to pick me up!” he joked.  Grantaire thought he might jump through the ceiling.

         “Can I come now?” he asked.  Jehan stood in the doorway listening.  Grantaire’s shouting had attracted him to the room.  Now he was giggling, watching Grantaire bounce excitedly on the sofa like a little kid.

         “I wish you could. You have to come tomorrow morning!”

         “Okay, okay. How are you?  You sound so much better, ‘Jolras.  Was it okay?  Was it awful?”

         “Yes I feel so much better.” Enjolras said with a smile.  “I’m so excited to see you, you don’t even know! My hands are shaking, I can hardly hold the phone!”

         “Me too! Oh God I love you so much…”

         “I’m so glad I was scared you would forget about me.”

         “Oh my God, Enjolras, never.  I’m so happy I can’t even stand up I’m totally trembling like an idiot.  Jehan is laughing at me.”  Jehan leaned over the back of the sofa and giggled.

         “Hi, Enjolras!” he shouted into the phone. 

         “Hi Jehan!”

         “Can’t wait till you come home, Lovey, we’ve got a surprise for you!”

         “Aw you guys! Aw sorry they’re telling me to get off the phone.  See you tomorrow!”

         “Love you.” Grantaire said with a smile.

         “Love you too.” Enjolras replied.  He hung up the phone and Jehan gave Grantaire an open mouth, ecstatic smile.  He leapt over the back of the sofa, stood up in front of Grantaire, and then took his hands.  Grantaire stood up and the two of them danced around the room, laughing and cheering. Grantaire was crying.

         “We have to tell everyone!” Jehan said, fishing around in the pockets of his float-y floral palazzo pants for his phone.

         “Yeah! We have to throw him a party at his apartment to surprise him.”

         “I’m on it!” Jehan cooed, tapping away at his phone.

 

Jehan

To: Feuilly<3, Bossuet, Joly, Courf, Combeferre, Marius, Cosette>8:17 pm – Hello Sweeties!  Our lovely Enjolras is coming home tomorrow!  Grantaire is going to pick him up @ 8:00 tomorrow morning, and we’re throwing a party to show him his apartment!!!  We have to set up while Grantaire picks him up.  Who’s doing what?  Reply ASAP, Lovelies!

 

Joly >8:18 – OH IM SO HAPPY!!!!!!! :D Are we doing food and stuff?  I have paper plates and solo cups!!!!!!

 

Feuilly >8:18 – cool I’ll handle food shopping. You come with me, Sweet. <3

 

Jehan >8:19 – Oh Lovely you’re a sweetie it’ll be like we’re really married!  We can kiss in the candy isle and it’ll be so romantic! <3 <3 <3

 

Courf >8:19 – Barf.  I think that last one was supposed to be private, Jehan ;) Combeferre and me will get balloons and streamers, okay?

 

Combeferre >8:20 – So glad he’s coming home! Can’t wait to see him! Yup I’m with Courf

 

Bossuet >8:20 – Jehan can I come wedding dress shopping with you? Haha jk I’ll clean up the apartment one last time, if that’ll help.  Just tell me what you need and I got it!

 

Marius >8:21 – Cosette says we’ll do music! She’s at my place now.

 

Jehan >8:21 – Fabulous!!!  Enjolras will be so happy!  Keep in touch, Lovelies!

 

         “I like how you call everyone ‘Lovely’.” Grantaire said, looking over Jehan’s shoulder; it was easy, as Jehan was an entire six inches shorter than Grantaire.

         “Well that’s what you all are.  You’re my Lovelies.” He said with a smile.

         “If you were famous, your fan base would be the official Lovelies.”  Jehan giggled, playing with a strand of his long hair that had escaped his messy bedtime bun.  He smiled.

         “Grantaire I’m so happy Enjolras is coming home!  I’ve missed him so much!”

         “ _You_ missed him?!  I was near death for the past month and a half!”

         “I know, Love, but everything will be better now, I know it!  Oh I’m so happy!” he threw his arms around Grantaire’s neck and pulled him down into a tight hug.  Grantaire laughed.

         “Jehan, I think you might be a five year old little girl in the wrong body.” Jehan laughed.

         “No, I’m Jehan and I’m in the right body, I’m just different, Grantaire.” He explained, sitting on the sofa, his legs crossed Indian-Style.  “And being different is what I’m best at.”

         “I feel like I could love you, if I were into girls.” Grantaire joked.  Jehan gasped sarcastically.

         “I am not a girl!” Jehan shouted.  “I just have long hair and like flowers and wear dresses sometimes and want to be a fairy princess when I grow up!” they both burst into laughter.

 

 

 

~Kittens are happening


	14. Chapter 14

Enjolras cried when he saw Grantaire open the door of the treatment center. He dropped his duffle and leapt into his arms, wrapping himself around Grantaire as he held him up. Grantaire kissed his hair.

         “I missed you so much.” Enjolras said quietly, leaning into Grantaire.

         “I missed you too, Apollo.” Grantaire replied, his hand in Enjolras’ hair, pressing his head against his chest.  “You look great!” he said when they finally parted.  He held Enjolras’ shoulders and looked him over.  Enjolras smiled.  “And look at these arms! You’re ripped!” Enjolras laughed.

         “Yeah that’s it.” Enjolras said with a smile.

         “Can’t wait to see your shirt off later.” Grantaire whispered.  Enjolras tapped his hand on Grantaire’s cheek: a playful slap.

         “Come on I want to go home!”  Enjolras chuckled.

         “Okay, okay. Do you have to sign out or anything?”

         “Already did!” Enjolras said, waving to Zephine behind the counter.

         “Goodbye, Enjolras! Good luck, Sweetie!” she said. “And take good care of him, Grantaire! He’s a keeper.” Grantaire smiled.

         “Promise.” He said, picking up Enjolras’ bag and holding the door for Enjolras.

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire hopped in front of Enjolras at his apartment door, and blocked his way inside.  Enjolras smiled, raising an eyebrow.

         “What are you doing?” he asked.

         “Nothing.” Grantaire said, knocking three times on the door.  Enjolras cocked his head, his golden hair cascading over his shoulder.  After a few seconds, Grantaire peeked through the door just as Feuilly yanked a frazzled Jehan behind the sofa, then held it open for Enjolras, whose jaw dropped when he saw his apartment.  Everyone emerged from their hiding spots, and Enjolras burst into tears.

         “You guys!” he squeaked, covering his mouth with his hands.

         “We missed you so much, Lovely! Jehan said, giving Enjolras a hug, which everyone joined.

         “You look wonderful, Enjolras.” Joly said with a smile. 

         “Yeah you did great, kid.”  Feuilly agreed, clapping Enjolras on the back.

         “We’re so happy to have you back!” Cosette said softly, hugging Enjolras herself once everyone had cleared out.

         “You look a million times better than last time I saw you, Cutie.” Enjolras didn’t recognize the voice immediately, but when he saw Eponine leaning against his kitchen counter, he immediately ran to give her a hug.

         “Thank you so much, Eponine.” He said.

         “You have another new friend, Enjolras.” Grantaire said, walking out of the bathroom with a strange, furry something in his arms.  He handed it to Enjolras, who smiled wide, stroking the kitten’s soft, reddish ears.

         “Oh Grantaire you didn’t tell us about this!” Jehan said, running his hand down the kitten’s tail.

         “Surprise!” Grantaire said with a smile.  Courfeyrac peeked over Enjolras’ shoulder at the kitten.

         “What are you going to name it, ‘Jolras?” he asked with a grin.

         “I don’t know! What do you think?” he asked, looking to his friends.

         “Cosette.” Suggested Marius.

         “No.” Grantaire retorted.  Cosette giggled.

         “Poppy.” Jehan offered, petting the cat.

         “Fluffy.” Feuilly said flatly.  Jehan looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.  He shrugged. “That’s what I’d call it.” He said.

         “His name is Roux.” Enjolras announced, smoothing his hand down through the kitten’s reddish fuzz. 

         “That’s perfect!” Combeferre piped.  The kitten squirmed, and Enjolras placed him down gently on the floor. He quickly ran up onto the sofa and sat on the top of the backrest, looking at Enjolras, questioning if he was doing something wrong.

         “You are a lovely little kitten, Roux!  You are, I know you are!” Enjolras cooed; his voice dopy and high pitched. He scratched under Roux’s chin, admiring the kitten’s bright green eyes.

         “I didn’t know your voice could do that, ‘Jolras.” Bossuet chuckled.  Joly laughed and took his hand.

         “Everyone leave I want to play with my kitten.” Enjolras joked, scooping up the kitten again and snuggling him against his chest.  “Thank you so much, Grantaire.” He said, craning his neck and giving him a quick kiss.

         “Anything for my Sunshine.” He replied with a smile.

         “Come see your bedroom now!” Jehan said, standing on his toes; something he did when he was excited.

         “The bedroom too? You guys didn’t have to do this!” Enjolras said, starting down the hallway and opening the door to his bedroom. Grantaire had outdone himself. Though he had left the walls mostly white, the wall with the windows now had an abstracted, curling design in the same red as the living room ceiling.  The new chair sat nicely in the corner next to the dresser, which Grantaire had painted navy blue.  The kitten had already taken a liking to the new chair, as Grantaire predicted, and leapt from Enjolras hands to lie down on it.

         “Grantaire it’s beautiful.” Enjolras said, looking around at the new painting, the dresser, and the new red quilt on the bed.  “You guys…You didn’t have to do this for me.” He said again, turning to look to his friends who had gathered in the doorway.

         “We wanted to, Enjolras.  We love you so!” Jehan said, sitting down on the edge of the chair and petting the kitten.

         “You’re lucky, Enjolras,” Eponine said, “You have so many people who love you.”

 

—o0o—

 

Grantaire sat on the couch and flipped channels on the TV, waiting for Enjolras to get out of the shower, Roux hunkered down in his lap, asleep. Though he was watching TV, all Grantaire was really thinking about was Enjolras.  He said that Grantaire wasn’t allowed to see him without a shirt on until he was better, and now he was, and Grantaire could hardly contain himself. It was so stupid and so childish, but Grantaire couldn’t wait to see him.  He had been imagining what Enjolras looked like since the second he met him, and now his daydreams were finally going to become reality.

         He wondered if Enjolras really looked as perfect as he did in his mind: was his chest really smooth and hairless?  Did his hipbones protrude just the right amount, on either side of his slender, taught stomach?   Did he really look like Grantaire’s many drawings?

         He scolded himself for thinking so shallowly, but smiled at the same time, whipping his head around when he heard the bathroom door open.  Enjolras peeked around the doorframe and smiled at him, the steam from the shower floating around him like heavenly clouds, catching the light from the bathroom and creating a golden haze.

         “Hey you.” Grantaire said with a smile.  Enjolras smiled and stepped out of the bathroom slowly, his toes curling in response to the cold wood floor.  Grantaire looked to him and smiled wide.

         His Apollo was better than his daydreams.  Enjolras was no longer skeletal, but healthy.  Though he was still very slender, there was a pleasant amount of squishiness to him that Grantaire found endearing.  He was strong, but not grotesque, with modest abdominals and a smooth, firm chest.  His clavicles were intoxicating, as were the freckles on his shoulders that match his cheeks. Grantaire was doing all he could not to run his hand over the smooth, china-white skin.  Even the way the waist of his pajama bottoms pressed into the small amount of excess at his hips made Grantaire smile. He lifted the kitten up off his lap and placed him gingerly on the sofa, then stood up and went to Enjolras, holding him close.

         “You’re beautiful, Apollo.” He said, running his hand through Enjolras’ golden hair. Enjolras only smiled, running his hand down Grantaire’s cheek, enjoying the feel of his stubble on his fingertips.

         “There’s a little more of me now.” He said with a grin.  Grantaire returned the smile.

         “It’s the perfect amount.” He said, playing with one of Enjolras’ loose curls. Grantaire loved it when he left his hair down; it made him look even more godly and ethereal, especially now that it had regained the golden sheen from before Enjolras became ill.

         Grantaire took Enjolras’ hand and sat down on the sofa, wrapping him in the snuggle blanket draped over the backrest.  He nuzzled Enjolras’ cheek with his nose, his dewy skin pleasantly sticky and sweet smelling. Enjolras leaned into Grantaire, his head on his chest.  Roux climbed into Enjolras’ lap and hunkered down in the blanket.

         “We’re like a real family.” Enjolras said with a smile.

         “It’s nice to have a family that isn’t messed up.” Grantaire replied lazily, smoothing Enjolras’ hair off of his forehead.

         “What do you mean? You saw your parents over Christmas.” Enjolras said, looking up at Grantaire, concern in his big, blue eyes. Grantaire shrugged.

         “I went to see my dad…I hardly remember my mom.”

         “I’m sorry…” Enjolras said, turning to face Grantaire, much to Roux’s dismay; he lost his snuggle buddy.  Enjolras ran his hand down Grantaire’s neck and to his shoulder.  “What happened to her?” he asked, curious, hoping he didn’t sound insensitive.

         “She cheated on my dad with her drug dealer when I was three.  I haven’t seen her since.  My dad’s a drunk.”  Enjolras’ heart sank. He and his father certainly didn’t get along, but he knew, deep down, that his father loved him. His mother may have been a pushover, but he knew that she loved him as well.  It seemed to him that Grantaire had nobody.

         “Grantaire I’m sorr—”

         “Don’t be sorry.” He said with a sad sort of smile.  “It’s not your fault my parents are screw-ups and I was a mistake.” He laughed lightly.

         “You’re not a mistake, Grantaire.” 

         “I am.” He said, almost sadly.  “My parents were seventeen when they had me.  My mom was on crack the entire pregnancy; I was messed up when I was born. They didn’t want me, and I know they didn’t want me.  I knew it since I was a little kid.” He explained.  “But it’s okay. I’ve got you now, and you care about me. That’s all I need to know.” He smiled, holding Enjolras as he sat in front of him.  Enjolras craned his neck and kissed the corner of Grantaire’s mouth.

         “I love you.” He said quietly.  Grantaire smiled and took his shoulders, leaning Enjolras back until he was laying flat on the sofa. Grantaire hovered over him, brushing his hair back and kissing his top lip.  Enjolras returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s neck.

         “Love you too, Sunshine.” He replied, trailing little kisses down Enjolras’ jaw and long neck, hesitating on his collar bones.

         Grantaire had a thing for clavicles.  As an artist, he saw the beauty in many things, but for one reason or another, he was infatuated with collarbones.  They were so elegant and thin, much like Enjolras, he thought. 

         Grantaire dated many girls in high school, and always wondered why he never enjoyed their company. They were nice, yes, but they were needy, jealous, and distrusting.  Though Grantaire had never actually dated another guy, he had a few encounters and realized shortly after that he preferred them to girls. Just a few months after, he set eyes on Enjolras for the first time and knew he was in love. Enjolras was like a painting come to life; his beautiful, golden hair was angelic, his eyes were so sparkling blue and innocent.  Grantaire could tell he had never gone out with anyone just by looking at him.

         Now, looking down at Enjolras, his shirt off, his eyes closed, a smile across his porcelain face, he felt almost guilty spoiling him with his touch, however loving they were. Grantaire looked to Enjolras, who was still relaxed and smiling.  The kitten played with his hair.

         “You okay, Apollo?” he asked.  Enjolras nodded, opening his eyes just enough to see Grantaire.

         “I just feel bad. I don’t know what to do.” He chuckled lightly, running his fingers through Grantaire’s hair.

         “Don’t do anything. This isn’t about me. This is for you.”

         “I want you to feel the same way I’m feeling right now.  It’s such a wonderful thing, to be loved.”

         “I feel that way every single moment I’m with you.” He said, running his hands down Enjolras’ sides, tracing his shape, committing everything to memory. Enjolras laughed.

         “What’s funny?” Grantaire asked, looking up and smiling.  “This is a serious matter.” He joked, sitting up and taking Enjolras into his arms.

         “You’re tickling me, Grantaire.” He said, kissing Grantaire’s nose.   

         “I told you I’m a screw up.” He said, laughing.

         “No you’re not. Don’t ever say that.” He hugged him tight.  Grantaire kissed his neck.

         “Don’t leave marks, Grantaire!” Enjolras said with a smile.

         “Too late.” Grantaire replied in between kisses.  Enjolras laughed again, tossing his hair off of his neck to keep it out of the way. He leaned back again, taking Grantaire with him, and reached down the back of his shirt, scratching his back lightly. Grantaire smiled.

         “You know what to do, ‘Jolras, don’t lie.” He said with a smile. 

         “I like having my back rubbed, so I figured you would like it too.” He explained, tugging at Grantaire’s shirt in an effort to remove it.  Grantaire smiled and pulled it off, tossing it into a heap on the floor, which Roux found quite amusing.  Enjolras smiled.  He had seen Grantaire without a shirt numerous times, but never like this.

         He was so wonderfully imperfect, that Enjolras thought he might melt.  He had never studied another person in such a way, and the experience was proving rather enjoyable…even exciting.  Grantaire’s chest was not smooth and hairless as his own was, but rough, with a thin layer of dark hair.  He was far broader than Enjolras, with wide shoulders and a strong, stocky middle.  A large, colorful, _beautiful_ tattoo covered his left shoulder.  In the middle of the swirling colors and stars and Greek myth allusions was written _toujours l'amour_ in curling, calligraphic letters.

         “It’s beautiful.” Enjolras said, running his hand over the tattoo.  Grantaire blushed.

         “Have a look at Apollo.” He said meekly, pointing to the figure holding up the sun in the very center of his shoulder.  Enjolras looked and smiled in pleasant surprise.

         “It’s me.” He said. “When did you get it?”

         “First weekend after school started.  I was drawing it all class for the first week, and I just…I liked it.”

         “I like it too.” Enjolras replied, giving Grantaire a quick kiss on the nose.   

         “I’m glad.” Grantaire said, settling down next to Enjolras on the sofa, draping his arm over his Apollo.  Roux snuggled up against Enjolras’ side, pawing at a tendril of his hair. Grantaire scratched Enjolras’ back in gentle circles.  Enjolras laid on his stomach, smiling broadly.

         “Thank you, Grantaire.” He said quietly.

         “For what?” he replied, confused. He continued rubbing little circles between Enjolras’ shoulders.

         “For waiting.”

         “Waiting for what?”

         “For everything.” Grantaire nodded, understanding.

         “I’ll wait as long as you want, Sunshine.  I told you before, I’ll wait my entire life if I have to, as long as you let me stick around.” He smiled.  Enjolras flipped over onto his back, picking up the half-asleep kitten and putting him on his chest.

         “I don’t know…What do you think, Roux?” he asked the kitten sarcastically.  He pressed the kitten’s nose to his ear before nodding. “I suppose you can stay, if Roux says it’s okay.” Enjolras announced.

         “Aw, thanks, Roux!” Grantaire replied, rubbing the kitty’s belly affectionately. Enjolras laughed.  
  
  
~I am not good at writing lovey business.  
  
Kitten happened!!!  
  
*Roux is red in French, if you didn't know that.  
*Grantaire's shoulder says 'Always Love'

 


	15. Chapter 15

Grantaire woke up around eight the next morning, early for him, and smiled, remembering he was in Enjolras’ bed.  He rolled over, expecting to see his Apollo laying in a puddle of morning sunlight from the window, but Enjolras had already gotten up, much to Grantaire’s dismay.  He was expecting a good morning snuggle session.  Instead of snuggling, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, leaving the bedroom to look for Enjolras.

         He found him sitting at the kitchen counter on his laptop, stroking Roux, who sat idly in his lap. Grantaire chuckled when he saw Enjolras wearing his glasses.  Apollo looked up, hearing the chuckle, and raised an eyebrow.

         “What?” he asked with a smile.

         “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” Grantaire said, sitting on the counter next to Enjolras’ computer.  Enjolras blushed and removed the square half-rimmed glasses from his nose.

         “Better? I usually wear contacts…” Enjolras admitted. I can’t see as well with them, but—”.

         “I like them.” Grantaire said, taking them from Enjolras’ lanky hands, then placing them back over his eyes.  “You should wear them more often.”

         “Maybe I will.” Enjolras replied, taking Grantaire’s face in his hands and guiding him down for a kiss.  Roux meowed in protest, for Enjolras had stopped petting his back, favoring Grantaire for the moment.

         “Oh my lovely little Roux!  I love you too, baby kitty cat!”  Enjolras said, assuming his squeaky baby voice, then picking up the kitten under his front legs and nuzzling their noses together.  There was a beep as Grantaire tapped his phone, ending a recording. Enjolras looked up, his eyes wide.

         “What was that?” he asked, placing Roux on the counter and standing up.  The kitten sat on top of his closed laptop.

         “Nothing.” Grantaire replied, pressing the screen of his phone against his tee shirt. Enjolras grabbed for it, and Grantaire held it up, high above Enjolras’ golden head.

         “Grantaire don’t send that to anyone!” he said, laughing and blushing. 

         “Let’s see…Bossuet…Jehan…” Grantaire teased, tapping the contacts into the phone to send them the video of Enjolras.

         “Grantaire no!” Enjolras protested, jumping and trying to climb up Grantaire’s shirt.

         “…Joly, Marius…Should I send it to Cosette?  It think I should.” He narrated as he tapped, finally pressing send.  He smiled down at Enjolras, whose mouth hung open.

         “I cannot believe you did that!” Enjolras said, laughing.

         “Had to share the adorable.”

         “The kitten?!”

         “No you!” Grantaire said, engulfing Enjolras’ head and neck in a bear hug.

         “Aw!” Enjolras said, his voice muffled by Grantaire’s arms.  Grantaire’s phone buzzed on the counter.

         “Who is it?” Enjolras asked with a smile.

         “Jehan. He says you’re adorable and he wishes you would talk to him like that sometimes.”

         “I think Jehan might be in love with everyone.” Enjolras said, chuckling.

         “I think you’re right. He asked me to move in with him when you were away.”

         “Why? Just out of the blue?” Enjolras asked with a smile.

         “Well I was staying with him, and—”

         “Why were you staying with Jehan?  I mean, it’s fine, I just…You could have stayed here…And what about your dorm?” he asked, growing slightly suspicious.

         “He didn’t want to…leave me…alone…” Grantaire continued, realizing he was backing himself into a corner.  Enjolras said nothing, but looked Grantaire straight in his bright green eyes. Grantaire knew that look. It was the look Enjolras gave him at meetings when he wasn’t paying attention.  It was the look Enjolras gave him when he was drinking. He felt his cheeks grow hot. He had been drinking. He deserved that sharp, tragic look Enjolras was giving him.  He didn’t say anything.  He just stood and looked at him, waiting for an explanation. 

         “I—I’m sorry, Enjolras…I…” he took a deep breath before continuing.  “I got totally smashed the night after you left.” He admitted, looking down at his lap. Enjolras’ expression softened. He leaned into Grantaire and gave him a hug.

         “Don’t be sorry.” He said, looking up at Grantaire with a smile.  “I didn’t eat for three entire days while I was there…I wasn’t going to tell you, but…We both made mistakes.” Grantaire smiled, pleased that Enjolras wasn’t angry with him

         “What were you working on, anyway?” Grantaire asked, releasing Enjolras and opening the laptop, much to Roux’s dismay.  He climbed up into Enjolras’ arms instead, snuggling into his sweatshirt.

         “Oh they’re posters…for a fundraiser we’re running next weekend. Combeferre usually does this stuff, but he’s been with Courfeyrac constantly and asked if I’d do it this time around…Feuilly said he’d hang them up around town but…I’m not very good at it.” Enjolras said as Grantaire sat down at the computer.  He put his head on Grantaire’s shoulder to watch what he did. Roux occupied Enjolras’ shoulder.

         “Well…It’s sorta boring…” Grantaire admitted, highlighting and un-highlighting sections idly.

         “What should I do?” Enjolras asked.

         “What’s the fundraiser for?”

         “A little girl at the middle school’s house burnt down.  It’s for her family, the Bissets.”

         “Let’s get some big paper and paint posters.” Grantaire said with a smile. Enjolras grinned meekly.

         “I’m no artist, Grantaire!” he said, taking Roux off of his shoulder and holding him close.

         “I’ll draw it, you paint it.  It’ll be like a coloring book, okay?” he said, standing up and kissing Enjolras’ forehead.

         “Okay.” Enjolras agreed.  “Now where do we get big paper?”

         “one sec.” Grantaire said, grinning before hurrying down the hallway to the closet.  He pulled out a roll of white paper.

         “Where did you get that?”

         “I brought it over so we didn’t get paint on your floors and stuff.” He explained. Enjolras smiled and knelt down on the floor as Grantaire unrolled a length of paper.  He pulled a pencil out of his stubby ponytail and started drawing big, curling letters.  Once he was finished spelling out ‘Help the Bissets!’, he began working on a flowery boarder with vines and leaves and petals.  Enjolras smiled as Grantaire handed him a paintbrush, putting a glob of red, blue, and yellow onto a paper plate.

         “Go for it.” Grantaire smiled.  Enjolras went straight for the red, as Grantaire expected, and painted over the letters slowly and carefully.  Grantaire started in on the flowers, and before long, they had a banner five feet long to hang at the middle school.  After about an hour, they had ten matching smaller posters, and Enjolras even managed to make one himself without Grantaire’s help.  Even little Roux offered his artistic expertise, stepping in the blue paint and tracking it around the outsides of the posters.

         “It’s a good thing you’re cute, otherwise I’d chuck you somewhere.” Grantaire said, picking up the kitten under his front legs.  Enjolras snatched Roux away from him and snuggled him against his chest.

         “No not my lovely little kitten!  You get blue paint wherever you feel like it, Roux.  Don’t listen to big mean Grantaire.” Enjolras said in the voice he reserved only for Roux. Enjolras looked up and smiled at Grantaire.

         “You really love that kitten, huh?” he said.  Enjolras nodded.

         “He’s such a little sweetie.  He climbed up beside me in bed last night it was the cutest thing.” Enjolras said, scratching the kitten’s head.

         “I was worried you’d be mad.” Grantaire admitted, scootching next to Enjolras and scratching Roux’s back.

         “Why would I be mad? Look how sweet he is!”

         “I thought you’d say you didn’t have time, or cats make a mess, or something.”

         “Though you may believe I am, I am _not_ made of stone, Grantaire!” Enjolras replied.  “And I happen to like cats very much, particularly this one.” He added, rubbing the kitten’s belly as he laid on his back in his lap.

         “I’m glad you love him.” Grantaire said, pulling Enjolras into his lap.

         “I’m glad you love me.” Enjolras said, leaning against Grantaire.  He looked up and gave Grantaire a sort of upside down kiss on the chin, the stubble tickling Enjolras’ nose.

         “I’m glad you love me too.” Grantaire replied.

         “Come on we have to hang these up now that they’re dry.” Enjolras said, placing Roux on the floor carefully before gathering up the posters into a neat pile. Grantaire rolled up the banner.

 

—o0o—

 

The very moment all of the posters were hung, Enjolras and Grantaire’s phones buzzed at the same time. 

 

Jehan>11:04 – Movie night?  My house? <3

 

Me>11:05 – Sounds good!  Grantaire agrees!

 

Jehan>11:05 – Aw are you together?!  You Loveys! 

 

Me>11:05 – :)

 

Jehan>11:06 – :D

 

         “That’ll be fun!” Enjolras said, wrapping his arm around Grantaire’s and taking his hand.

         “Wonder what we’re watching.” Grantaire replied as they walked down the sidewalk in the park.

         “A romantic comedy, knowing Jehan.” Enjolras said, leading Grantaire over to a park bench and sitting down.

         “Not if Feuilly’s involved.” Grantaire said, sitting next to him, propping his ankle up on his knee. 

         “He likes old scary movies.  Remember over winter break, when we went to Jehan’s house and watched _The Shining?_ ” 

         “And how you sat in Courfeyrac’s lap the entire time because you were so scared.”

         “I was not that scared, Grantaire.” Enjolras retorted, crossing his arms.

         “You fucking liar! You nearly strangled him you were holding onto him so tight!”

         “No I was not!”

         “Yes you so were! Do you know how I remember?”

         “How?”

         “I remember because I was sitting on the armchair, not paying any attention to the movie, because I wished so badly I was Courfeyrac so that you’d hold onto me like that.” Enjolras blushed.

         “Maybe I was _a little_ scared…”

         “Did you just admit to being wrong?  The great Marble Man? Apollo, wrong?!”

         “Oh be quiet!” Enjolras said, laughing.  Grantaire pulled him into a hug.

         “Do you know where we are?” Grantaire asked.  Enjolras looked around, confused.

         “What do you mean?”

         “This is the bench I was sitting out when you fainted on me.”  Enjolras smiled meekly, remembering how terrible he had felt that day.  He remembered the heaving in his chest, how he thought his ribs might cave in.  He remembered feeling like he was fat and miserable and how he just wanted to die.  His eyes widened.

         “You saved my life, Grantaire.” He said, looking up into his oddly green eyes. Grantaire shrugged.

         “Not really…”

         “Yes really. If you weren’t here, I never would have gotten help.  I would have just laid in my apartment until I starved to death.”

         “Well, consider us even now.” Grantaire replied.

         “Why?”

         “If you didn’t let me hang around at those volunteer meetings, I’d still be a drunk.”

         “I didn’t do anything, though…”

         “You didn’t kick me out even though I’m useless.”

         “First of all, you’re not useless.  Second, maybe I thought you were sort of cute.”  Grantaire smiled.

         “No you didn’t!”

         “I did…everyone used to make fun of me because I wouldn’t shut up about you.  Apparently, I talked about you a lot.” He said, his cheeks turning a rosy shade. He leaned against Grantaire’s arm and closed his eyes with a contented sigh.  “I never thought I would ever be this happy.”

         “I’m glad you’re happy.”

         “You make me happy.”

         “I used to think you hated me.”

         “I never hated you. Sometimes I thought you were pigheaded and contrary, but I think I might like that about you.”

         “And I also might like that you’re stubborn and smarter than me.”

         “I am not smarter than you, Grantaire.”

         “Yes you are.” Enjolras shook his head with a smile. 

         “I could never be an artist like you are.  I don’t think I could knock anyone out either.”

         “How do you know I can knock someone out?”

         “You and Bossuet got into a drunk fight once at Courfeyrac’s and you knocked him out cold first hit, and Combeferre told me you used to kick box in high school.

         “Bossuet has the worst luck of anyone I’ve ever met in my entire life, and I sucked at kickboxing.”

         “Why don’t you admit that you’re good at anything, Grantaire?” Enjolras asked. He shrugged.

         “I guess I just don’t really think I am good at anything.”

         “Those paintings you hung over my couch are beautiful.”

         “Because they’re of you.”  Enjolras smiled.

         “I love you.”

         “Love you too, Sunshine.”

         “Do want to go get a milkshake?  Think Eponine will let me use my free hot cocoa card?”  Grantaire smiled.

         “She likes you. I think you could order anything and she’d cover it.”  Enjolras rolled his eyes.  His entire life, girls had ogled at him, and from the moment he could understand what love meant, he knew he would never fall in love with a girl.  He often felt guilty in high school when he had to refuse offers for dates. Some girls went so far as to offer him gifts if he would date them.  He had refused the position of prom king because he couldn’t bring himself to dance with the prom queen; a very popular, very nasty girl.  He became so nervous about everyone constantly watching him for his looks, that he eventually began starving himself to keep thin. With everyone’s eyes on him, he worried about the ridicule that could come if he changed.

         He told no one about his secret starvation, and was even more secretive about his preferences when it came to love.  From sophomore year through senior year, he told nobody.  His secret was only revealed when his mother got a call from the school nurse saying that he had passed out during gym class and that his heartbeat was shallow. He woke up in the hospital, and his father was there, hollering at him from the moment his eyes fluttered open.

         Whenever someone pointed out a girl looking at him, bad memories came flooding back into his mind. He had learned over the years to just ignore it, to say thank you for compliments and move on, but the memories were still there, and they still made him nervous.

 

—o0o—

 

The scene in the Musain was not what Enjolras or Grantaire expected. Customers were sitting quietly at tables and at the counter, watching awkwardly as a man, obviously the manager of the shop, shouted at Eponine, who was red in the face and crying, but keeping up her iron façade. 

         “You don’t get the same pay because you don’t deserve the same pay!” the man shouted.

         “I do the exact same job he does!”

         “But he does it better than you!”

         “It’s only because I’m a girl!”

         “It’s because you’re a good-for-nothing, tip stealing bitch, that’s why!”

         “What’s going on here?” Enjolras asked as calmly as he could with his voice raised.

         “He won’t pay me what I earn!”

         “I pay you well over what you earn, missy!”

         “He doesn’t pay me what he pays Frankie because I’m a girl and he’s a misogynist!”

         “You’re a little bitch!  I should fire you!”

         “Stop! Listen!” Enjolras said, smacking his hand on the countertop to stop the jabbering.  “Eponine, do you have a copy of your work contract?”

         “Yeah it’s in the back…”

         “Go get it, alright?” she scurried back into the kitchen, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

         “What are you trying to do, kid?” the manager asked Enjolras.  He smiled in return.

         “Practice law.” He replied with a small smile.  Eponine handed him the folder with her contract inside.  Enjolras read it quickly.

         “It says here she is to be paid €10.00 an hour.  Is that what you’re being paid, Eponine?”

         “No.” she snapped back. “He’s giving me €9.53, minimum wage. Frankie makes €10.00, he showed me his paycheck.”

         “Is this your signature, sir?” Enjolras asked, pointing to the line at the bottom of the paper. The owner nodded.

         “But you don’t understand! She’s been stealing, I know it! They’re supposed to pool the tips at the end of the day!”

         “Do you have proof of this? Innocent until proven guilty, sir.” Enjolras said.

         “No…But I know it’s her!”

         “It’s your daughter! She takes tips off the table and shoves them in her pocket!  I’ve seen her do it!”

         “Don’t say anything about my daughter, you little bitch!”

         “That is a derogatory term and I don’t want to hear it again!  Now please listen!” Enjolras nearly shouted.  “If this is, in fact, your signature, which you yourself have admitted it is, then by law you must pay Eponine exactly ten euros per hour, as stated on this document.”

         “I’m her boss! I can pay her whatever I want!”

         “I’m sorry, sir, but that is not what this document says.  Nowhere on this contract does it state that you are allowed to change her wage as you see fit, therefore you have breached this official contract that you have both signed.  Since that is the case, you owe Eponine .47 euros for every hour she’s worked.”  Enjolras handed the contract back to Eponine.

         “And what if I don’t, huh, pretty boy!?”

         “Then she can sue.” He replied with a smile.  The owner of the store threw his hands up in exasperation and walked back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.  Eponine leapt over the counter and hugged Enjolras.  The customers clapped.

         “I cannot believe you did that!” she said, hugging him around the neck.  “That guy is such an asshole and you set him straight! Thank you so much, sweetie!”

         “Never a problem, Eponine.” He replied, returning the embrace.  “A contract is a contract!”

         “You order, kid, I’m paying.” The man behind Enjolras in line said with a smile.  Grantaire smiled, taking Enjolras’ hand.

         “Oh you don’t have to do that—” Enjolras said.

         “No I insist. You’ve done something nobody else was able to do.  Are you with him?” the man asked Grantaire.

         “Yeah, but—”

         “Order whatever you want. It’s on me.”

         “Thank you, sir.” Enjolras said with a smile, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder briefly.

         “Just one big milkshake, Ep.” Grantaire said.

         “The hugest milkshake I’ve ever made.” She said, whipping one up quick.  “€5.00!” she said, handing Grantaire the glass.  The man paid for them with a smile, and he and Grantaire headed over to their usual booth in the corner.  Enjolras placed two straws into whipped cream.  He took a long sip.

         “I love chocolate shakes.” He said with a smile.

         “I love that you love chocolate shakes.” Grantaire said, taking mouthful of whipped cream off the top.  He scooped some up onto his finger and dabbed it onto Enjolras’ nose.

         “Grantaire!” he chuckled.  Grantaire kissed it away over the table.

         “That was brave of you, to help Eponine.” He said.  Enjolras looked up from the milkshake and shrugged.

         “It’s not right that he wasn’t giving her the pay she deserves.”

         “It wasn’t your problem, but you fixed it anyway.”

         “It was my problem.  We’re all in this world together, whether we like it or not, and if one person is suffering, we’re all suffering.”

         “It’s impossible to get rid of everyone’s problems, ‘Jolras.” Grantaire said, having a sip of the milkshake.

         “Nothing is impossible, Grantaire.  Even if I don’t eradicate suffering, if I can make someone feel better about themselves, or make somebody’s day brighter, I’ve moved toward my goal.”

         “How are you even a real person?” Grantaire asked with a smile. “You’re so perfect.”

         “No I’m not.” Enjolras replied, blushing.

         “You’re perfect to me.”  He smiled.

 

~Yay more chapters!  
  
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	16. Chapter 16

The pair continued hanging posters and fliers after leaving the Musain.  Grantaire was beginning to get irritated, the heat bothering him, making his hair stick to the back of his neck.

“Do people actually come to these things?” Grantaire asked as he followed Enjolras, tacking posters up on bulletin boards around town; in restaurants, town hall, the school.

         “People will come to this.  The family is nice. The kid is sweet. People will want to help them.”

         “I mean other stuff.” Grantaire clarified, “like those fund raisers you organize for free school lunches and food drives and stuff.”

         “It depends.” Enjolras said honestly, “sometimes lots of people come, sometimes only a few, but every little bit helps.”

         “You just work so hard.  It sucks that people don’t come after all the trouble you go through.”

         “It’s alright. I like doing it. I’m good at getting people excited. They just have to come.” Enjolras smiled. “Getting them to come is the issue.”

         “People don’t care is the issue.” Grantaire said.

         “People care, Grantaire.  They all get so excited at rallies and everyone donates money to causes they believe in.”

         “Yeah, a few bucks, maybe, but it’s just so they don’t look like jerks in front of everyone. And the people at those rallies go home and forget about everything.  It’s really not worth your effort.  You shouldn’t work so hard for everyone to just be assholes.”

         “That’s not how it works, Grantaire.” Enjolras said, stapling up a poster particularly aggressively. Grantaire didn’t seem to notice. “People do care. They give because they care. They listen because they care. They come because they care.”

         “I think _you_ care, and maybe our friends care, but the public couldn’t care any less.  They go because it makes them feel like good people for a while, and overrides their guilt about being selfish jerks.”

         “So you believe that everyone is a selfish jerk.” Enjolras asked, looking back over his shoulder at Grantaire, his eyes wild and angry, though he kept his composure. Grantaire shrugged.

         “Most people are.” He said.  “Everyone’s just out for themselves, most of the time.  But you’re not like that.  That’s why you’re so amazing.” He smiled.  Enjolras did not.

         “People need to help each other.  If we don’t, society will fall apart.  People know that. They’ll come.  They’ll help.”

         “Okay.” Grantaire said, hoping to get off the conversation.

         “What do you mean ‘okay’?  That ‘okay’ didn’t sound very convincing.”

         “I just don’t want you to waste your time, is all.”

         “Oh I’m sorry you’re not having a good time.” Enjolras tossed back.

         “That’s not what I said.”

         “If you think this is a waste of time, leave.”

         “But I want to stay with you.”

         “But I want to help this family.”

         “So you care about some random little kid’s family more than me, now?”

         “They need me, Grantaire!”

         “Keep telling yourself that.”

         “What is wrong with you?!” Enjolras shouted, turning around to look Grantaire in the face. “You’re being so selfish!”

         “ _I’m_ being selfish?  Are you seriously going to go there, Enjolras?” he asked, thoroughly irritated. He felt his ears grow hot, and was sure they were red.  “You just don’t seem to realize that I’ve got some issues too.  Everything’s always all about you, Enjolras.” He spat, watching Enjolras’ harden, his eyes turning cold and sharp, his jaw flinching angrily.

         “We are not doing this in public.” Enjolras replied, looking up at Grantaire, but somehow seeming larger and more intimidating at the same time.

         “Oh, scared you’ll tarnish your image, Apollo?” Grantaire said sarcastically. Enjolras usually got a pleasant shiver when Grantaire called him that—His Godly nickname—but now it sounded cold and stony, mocking.

         “You’re embarrassing me.” Enjolras said honestly, his voice becoming low and intense. Most people raised their voice when they were angry.  Enjolras’ became deep and low, a growl.

         “There you go again! _You’re_ embarrassed.  _You’re_ running a fund raiser.  _You’re_ high and mighty. _You’re_ anorexic—” Enjolras’ eyes widened, and Grantaire knew he had crossed a line.  “Enjolras I’m sorry I didn’t mean that.” He said, softening, his voice returning to its normal, mellow tone. Enjolras’ mouth fell open slightly, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose.  Grantaire reached out to hold his hand, but Enjolras recoiled. “Say something.” Grantaire coaxed as a tear escaped Enjolras’ eye and rolled down his porcelain cheek.

         “Leave.” Enjolras replied quietly.

         “Enjolras don’t—”

         “Leave!” he shouted, pointing towards the door of the town hall.

         “I don’t want to leave you.”

         “Well you’ve already made it clear that I’m a sick, selfish nutcase and I’m telling you to leave! Indulge me!”

         “How will you get home?” Grantaire asked, wiping a tear away from his own eye with the cuff of his shirt.

         “I am a grown man, Grantaire, I can get home.” Enjolras hissed before pushing past Grantaire and out onto the street, where he continued walking and stapling fliers to telephone poles.

 

         “I am such an idiot.” Grantaire said to himself as he kick started the Vespa and headed back to the apartment.  Enjolras continued hanging fliers for the fund raiser at the middle school, his expression stony, though his eyes were filled with crystalline tears.

 

—o0o—

 

A thunderstorm erupted about an hour after Grantaire had returned to the apartment, waking him up from his nap.  He always slept when he was upset.  Everything always seemed better after a nap, but sadly, he couldn’t sleep away what he had said to Enjolras.  He looked around the apartment.

         “‘Jolras?” he called. “You back yet?” he sat up. “I’m sorry, Apollo…I love you…” he continued to the empty air.  Roux climbed up onto his lap.  “He must not be home yet—But it’s raining…” Grantaire said to the kitten, who seemed relatively indifferent, swatting at the drawstring on Grantaire’s sweatshirt.  He grabbed his keys from the, deciding it best to go look for Enjolras, but when he opened the apartment door, there stood a very wet, very angry Enjolras.

         “Thank you for leaving me, Grantaire.” He spat, his golden curls darkened by the water, dripping into his eyes.

         “You told me to leave…” he said quietly.

         “It doesn’t matter.” Enjolras said, pushing past Grantaire and into the bedroom, tossing out Grantaire’s pillow, pajamas, and a blanket.  He shut and locked the door.  “Enjoy your shitty futon.” He called.  Grantaire sighed and picked up his things, moving them to the couch.

 

A few more hours passed.  The thunderstorm hadn’t subsided, and Grantaire was unable to concentrate on his painting.  He couldn’t get the angle right, and it was bothering him…at least that’s what he told himself he was concerned with.  He sighed, standing up off of the sofa and making his way to the bedroom door.

         “Enjolras?” he asked with a soft knock.  A rustling of sheets was the only reply he received.  “Can I come in, Enjolras?” he asked, trying the door.  He was surprised when the nob turned; he expected it to be locked. Enjolras was sitting on the bed, reading an extremely thick book he had rested in his lap.  Grantaire approached the bed slowly, watching Enjolras for any sign of opposition as he sat down on the corner of the mattress. “Can we talk?” he asked quietly. Enjolras nodded, but did not look up from the pages of his novel.  “I just wanted to tell you that I was sorry…I didn’t mean what I said before—I was just—I was angry because I…did stuff…” Enjolras looked up, a question in his eyes.

         “What do you mean?” he asked, closing his book and hugging his knees to his chest, his ankles crossed.

         “I get…I have pretty bad depression, ‘Jolras…anxiety…I take a lot of shit and pills and stuff…I just…I’m not trying to blame what I said on that, it’s just that I—like, sometimes—I don’t even know what I’m saying…Just…There are things you don’t know, and I just got a little frustrated that you, like…no this isn’t your fault, it’s just that nobody really asks me what’s up with me, you know? Does that make sense?” Enjolras nodded, scotching closer to Grantaire.

         “Well…Let’s start now.” He suggested.  Tell me what goes on with you?” he smiled.  Grantaire looked down at his lap.

         “I don’t want to scare you away.” He said.  Enjolras took his hand and set it on his knee, running his slender fingers over the back of Grantaire’s hand.

         “Grantaire, you’ve seen me at my absolute worst.  I have no right to be scared off by anything you’ve done.” He smiled. “I threw up on you, I kicked you, I made Courfeyrac think you were a murderer briefly…” he joked. Grantaire smiled.

         “Okay…Alright I’m just gonna…like…here.” He said, turning to the side and pulling down the waist of his pajama pants, just so that his hip and upper thigh was exposed.  Enjolras gasped at the crosshatch of scars; some pale and nearly gone, others hardly healed and purplish.  There were two lines that had only just stopped bleeding

         “Grantaire when—”

         “I get upset, and I just…sometimes it makes me feel better for a while…but then I feel like shit afterwards. I’ve done it a few times since I stopped drinking…I needed something else to make me feel better, you know? I—I did it before…when you were in here…I’m sorry.”

         “Don’t be sorry. I should be sorry! I had no idea! You’re right…I can be selfish…”

         “No! No that’s not what I want you to think! You’re not selfish, I just…I don’t want to keep secrets…” he said, thinking, contemplating continuing.  He took a deep breath.  “I tried to kill myself once.” He admitted, seeming to struggle saying the words. Enjolras looked pained.

         “When? Why?”

         “High school. I tried to jump off an overpass into traffic, but Combeferre stopped me.”

         “Thank God he was there!  What would I do without you?” he said, falling into Grantaire and holding him.  Grantaire returned the embrace.

         “It’s not a big deal. It happened.  It’s done.  I just wanted you to know…I wanted you to know so you could decide if I was…okay for you.”

         “You will always be okay for me.” Enjolras said with a smile.  “I’m sorry I made you do that to yourself…” he added, running his hand gently across Grantaire’s newest slashes.

         “It wasn’t you. Don’t ever think it was you. I was a douchebag. I’m sorry.”

         “Promise you won’t do it again.” Enjolras said.  Grantaire smiled.

         “Only if you promise not to throw my pillowcase into the cat’s water bowl next time you’re kicking me out.” Grantaire chuckled.  Enjolras grinned.

         “Promise!”


	17. Chapter 17

Enjolras woke first the next morning, still precisely where he had fallen asleep: in Grantaire’s arms.  He smiled, tracing his hand down Grantaire’s arm, his smile fading when he realized that Grantaire’s hand was rested on his hip, which had been exposed by his t-shirt, which had ridden up his side.  He looked himself over, hesitating on Grantaire’s hand, which still rested comfortably on his hip…His soft, pale, pudgy hip. He felt a surge of disgust well inside of him, and he wiggled out of Grantaire’s grip, slipping out of bed and into the bathroom. He sat on the lid of the toilet, his face in his hands, his elbows on his knees—his squishy, fatty knees.

         “Stop it. Stop it, Enjolras, you’re fine. You’re better. Don’t do this to yourself again. You’re healthy, you’re healthy…” he chanted to himself, standing up and pacing the bathroom.  He pulled off his shirt absentmindedly, dropping it to the floor and looking at himself in the mirror, turning to the side, putting his arms above his head. He turned around and looked over his shoulder, nearly gagging when he saw the dimples that had appeared in his lower back, grabbing at the excess around his lower stomach, squeezing it between his fingers.  He ran his hands through his hair.

         “Enjolras do not do this. You’re fine.  You’re perfect exactly like this.  You could stand to gain a few pounds.  That’s what the doctor said.  The doctor said to keep gaining weight.” He told himself quietly, looking himself over in the mirror again, trying to see himself as thin, perfect. Instead, all he saw was the latest breakout on his face and chest, his floppy arms, the extra around his middle. He picked at his skin until it bled, sitting on the counter in a sort of trance, induced by self-loathing.

         “I’m just so goddam fat.” He admitted to himself, feeling tears escape his eyes.  He sighed, closing his eyes and kneeling in front of the toilet, lifting the lid slowly.  He opened his mouth, his hand poised to gag himself, when he felt himself being embraced from behind, Grantaire clasping his hands around Enjolras’ waist.

         “I love you, Sunshine.” He whispered, pulling Enjolras back into him and away from the toilet. Enjolras didn’t resist. He fell back into Grantaire, who sat down on the cold tile floor and let Enjolras lean against his chest. Grantaire wiped away Enjolras’ tears with his calloused thumbs.  “You’re so beautiful, Apollo.  You’re beautiful just how you are.”

         “I’m fat, Grantaire.” Enjolras whispered.  Grantaire combed Enjolras’ hair up and off of his forehead soothingly.

         “You’re not. You’re perfect.”

         “You’re lying.”

         “Even if I were, what does it matter?” Grantaire asked with a smile.  “I’m nowhere near attractive, but you love me.  I’m sort of chubby and my hair is always a mess and I never shave, but that’s okay.  Even if you didn’t look lovely, I would still love you.  That’s all that matters.”

         “I can’t, Grantaire, I have to get rid of it.”

         “You’re lovely, Apollo.”

         “I want to be perfect.”

         “You are perfect.”

         “I can’t see my ribs.”

         “I can feel your beautiful heart beat.”

         “I have gross dimples on my back…I’ve never had that before…”

         “I think they’re cute.” Grantaire said with a smile, standing up and offering Enjolras his hand. Enjolras just sat, staring at his feet. Grantaire bent down and picked him up, cradling him in his strong, loving arms, and sitting down on the futon with Enjolras in his lap. 

         “I don’t ever want you do feel like you’re fat or ugly or imperfect, because you are angelic, Enjolras. You’re the most beautiful being I’ve ever set eyes on.” Grantaire said with a sappy sort of smile, though he was completely serious.  Enjolras returned the smile, though his eyes were sad.

         “Grantaire why do you put up with me?”

         “Because a love you and because you put up with me.” He grinned.

         “I don’t put up with you. You’re not the one who needs to be carried out of the bathroom at five in the morning.”

         “But I was the hopeless drunk who sliced himself open every time he was upset.  But you changed that.  Now I’m going to help you how you helped me.” He replied, pressing kisses into the crook of Enjolras’ neck, moving up until Enjolras turned his head, their lips meeting.  “I love you, and I love your tummy, and I love your back dimples, and I’m going to love you forever and ever.” He said between kisses, running his hands down Enjolras’ back, scratching gently, how he knew Enjolras liked.

         “I’m sorry I’m like this. You deserve better than this.” He said into Grantaire’s sweatshirt, tears escaping and rolling down his cheeks. Grantaire held him close.

         “You’re perfect, Enjolras. Nothing is wrong with you. I just want you to be happy.”

         “I want you to be happy, too.”

         “It’s a good thing you make me happy, then.” Grantaire replied.

         “I don’t know why I make you happy.  It can’t make you happy to pull my goddam head out of the toilet at five in the morning.”

         “No…But holding you makes me happy.  Scratching your back makes me happy.  You looking up at me and kissing my chin makes me happy.” He smiled.  “I wish you could see yourself how I see you, Apollo.  You’re so perfect, it’s like you’re not even real.  You’re like a painting or a sculpture.”

         “Why?” Enjolras asked. “Why do you see me that way?”

         “because it’s true. Your skin is so smooth and pale like marble.”

         “I pick at it…I make it bleed…” Enjolras said, denying his obvious ethereality. 

         “Your hair is like silk, it’s so smooth and shiny.  I love how it makes pipe curls I can play with.” He said, pulling at one of Enjolras’ curls, watching it spring back into a pipe shape when he let it go.

         “It’s frizzy…It falls out.”

         “Do you know what my favorite part about you is?”

         “What?” Enjolras asked halfheartedly. 

         “Your beautiful—” he kissed him, “lovely—” another kiss, “perfect voice.  Every time you say anything, I want to just hold you and listen to you talk to me.”

         “I made you upset yesterday…”

         “No you didn’t. I get sad sometimes, but that’s not your fault.”

         “It was my fault.”

         “Is that why you’re doing this? Because you feel bad about yesterday?” Enjolras thought for a long moment before nodding slowly.

         “Don’t ever hurt yourself because of me.  Never ever.”

         “You hurt yourself on my account—”

         “No I didn’t. I was sad because of me, not because of you.  I won’t do it again, I promise.  And I want you to promise something too.  I want you to promise me you won’t ever make yourself sick ever again.” 

         “I promise.” Enjolras said, smiling up at Grantaire. 

         “Good.  Now what do we get some breakfast, you and me?”

         “I don’t know…” Enjolras looked down at himself.  Grantaire took Enjolras’ chin in his hand and made him look up, away from himself. He took his sweatshirt off and pulled it over Enjolras’ head, covering up his body, hiding it from himself.

         “Enjolras listen to me. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful exactly how you are and I love you so much.  I don’t want you to think any different.  You’re perfect and you’re wonderful and flawless and I want you to stay exactly how you are forever.” Grantaire said, kissing all the way from Enjolras’ shoulder to his lips. “And I can tell you want a stack of strawberry pancakes. I can see it in your eyes.” He added with a grin.  Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire, hugging his neck.

         “I love you.” He said.

         “I love you too, Sunshine. Come on.  We can go to the little place Cosette’s dad owns on the corner. Musain doesn’t do sit down breakfast.” He smiled.  Enjolras nodded.

         “You just have to put real pants on first.” Enjolras said, chuckling at Grantaire’s PJ bottoms— _The Irises_ by Van Gogh printed on the linen.

         “You’re one to talk, mister ‘these are my lucky red boxers’!” Grantaire tossed back with a laugh. Enjolras smiled.

 

—o0o—

 

Cosette met them at the door of the small corner restaurant when she saw them coming through the window.  Marius was close behind—Mr. Valjean had hired him as well, mostly because he was always hanging around waiting for Cosette, taking up a table.

         “Good morning!” she cooed, her voice light and song-like.  It was no wonder Valjean called her ‘Lark’.  “Grantaire, I didn’t know you knew how to climb out of bed before ten.” She joked. Grantaire laughed.

         “Enjolras helped.” He wrapped his arm around Enjolras’ waist, and Enjolras leaned into his side, still wearing Grantaire’s sweatshirt.

         “Sit down, okay? What do you want to drink?” Cosette asked, sitting them down in a window booth.

         “Just a coffee for me.” Grantaire said with a smile.  “Just black.” Cosette scribbled in her notebook.

         “What would you like, Enjolras?” she asked with a smile.

         “Hm…I think a lemonade.” He returned the smile.

         “Of course! I’ll be right back!” she said, her skirt twirling as she turned around and scurried back behind the counter.

         “How come you guys weren’t at Jehan’s last night?” Marius asked, leaning on the back of Enjolras’ side of the booth.  Enjolras looked to Grantaire, unsure of what to say.

         “I was having anxiety problems.” Grantaire said with a smile, putting it on himself. “Enjolras wanted to stay with me.” He added. Nobody needed to know they had a little fight.

         “Aw I’m sorry…Coffee and breakfast will make up for it!” Marius said with a grin.  Enjolras smiled up at him.

         Marius was terribly sweet. He was such a romantic, and always spoke kind words.  His face was a mess of freckles and awkward brown eyes, his hair reddish and fluffy; not quite straight, not quite curly.  He was so wonderfully oblivious to anything and everything that didn’t concern his Cosette, that his friends often made fun of him for it, but he didn’t care. He was the master of laughing it off, as he was usually the one being teased.  Enjolras didn’t know him very well, but he was close with Courfeyrac, and was always hanging around.  He was good company, and very kind.

         “Okay, friends, what would you like to eat?” Cosette asked, setting down Grantaire’s giant coffee mug and Enjolras’ glass of sparkly ice and lemonade. 

         “Thank you, Cosette.” Enjolras said, taking the glass. “I’m going to need strawberry pancakes.” He added.

         “Want the fresh ones on top too?” she asked.

         “Of course.” Enjolras replied.

         “Whipped cream?”

         “Lots.” Grantaire answered for him.  “And sprinkles, if you have them.” He joked.  Marius laughed.

         “Don’t you have tables to wait, dearest?” Cosette said, batting Marius on the top of his head with her little notebook.  He blushed and slinked away to the table across the shop.

         “And what about you, Grantaire?” she asked.

         “I’m going to have a ham egg and cheese croissant.” He smiled.

         “Wonderful! Back in a bit!” she said, hurrying back to the kitchen again.

         “She’s nice.” Enjolras said as she walked away.

         “Yeah.  She’s cute.  Wonder how Marius convinced her to go out with him.”  Enjolras laughed.

         “He’s not bad!” he said. “He’s a little ditzy, maybe, but he’s sweet.”

         “You should see him when he’s drunk.” Grantaire scoffed.

         “Have you ever seen Jehan drunk, though?  That’s something to see. He recites poetry. Dirty poetry.” Enjolras said.

         “Are you serious? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that hammered.”

         “Joly is fun, too. He gets a little crazy and starts trying to check everyone for strep throat.  If he gets _really_ drunk, he lays down and cries because ‘he has Ebola and is going to die’. It’s really a magical experience.” At this point, Grantaire was completely beside himself laughing.

         “That’s funny, ‘Jolras!” he said, calming down and taking a sip of his coffee.  “I bet you’re fun when you’re drunk, too.” He said with a snide sort of smile.

         “I don’t know.” Enjolras admitted. “I’ve never been really drunk before.” Grantaire’s smile suddenly became more sinister.

         “Well we’re going to have to change that.” He said.

         “I don’t think so. Why would anyone willingly consume something that causes complete loss of control?”

         “Sometimes you just need to go numb.  It’s fun, sometimes. It’s a good time to just feel no pain or embarrassment or anything for a little while.”

         “Spoken like a true alcoholic.” Enjolras said, playing with his straw.

         “Well…I’m never drinking again.” Grantaire replied. “Never ever.”

         “Then I shouldn’t, either. We can do it together.” Enjolras smiled.

         “I guess that sounds okay to me…I still think you’d be a cute drunk, though.” He replied, taking Enjolras’ hand across the table, playing with his long, pale fingers.  They only pulled apart when Cosette returned with their plates.

         “Oh aren’t you cute, holding hands and things!” she said, setting the dishes down gently. Grantaire smiled. Enjolras blushed. He wasn’t usually one for public affection.  Grantaire was. “Happy breakfast! My Papa said it’s on the house, by the way.” She smiled.

         “Thank you, Cosette!” Enjolras called as she turned behind the counter.

         “No problem, ‘Jolras!” she replied.

         “I like the whipped cream artwork.” Grantaire said, looking at Enjolras’ pancakes.

         “What?” Enjolras asked, looking at it himself.  He hadn’t noticed, but Cosette had drawn a massive whipped cream heart on top of his pancake stack. He rolled his eyes and smiled.

         “How cute.” He said. Grantaire laughed, scooping up some of the whipped cream and dabbing it on Enjolras’ nose, how he always did. Enjolras giggled as Grantaire kissed it off.

 

 

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	18. Chapter 18

A week passed, and neither Enjolras nor Grantaire had a significant slip up. There was no drinking, cutting, gagging, or starving.  Everything was wonderful, and both of them were truly happy, maybe for the first time in their lives.

         Enjolras had fallen back into his routine.  He had taken leave from his job while he was recovering, and the following Friday was his first day back. Grantaire was aware Enjolras worked, but he hadn’t asked where.  It hadn’t really come up.  It wasn’t important. But he was surprised when Enjolras emerged from the bedroom in a peachy pink t shirt with _Madeleine’s_ across the chest in curly print. Enjolras smiled awkwardly when he saw Grantaire’s confused stare.

         “What?” he asked. Grantaire shrugged.

         “You just didn’t strike me as the kind of guy that worked at Madeleine’s Ice Cream, is all.” He smiled.

         “Well I do.” Enjolras said, leaning over the back of the sofa where Grantaire was sitting, running his hands down Grantaire’s chest, giving him a sort of backwards hug. Grantaire craned his neck up and gave Enjolras an upside-down kiss.

         “I assumed you worked at a law firm answering phones or something.”

         “Well that’s dull.” Enjolras replied, pulling his hair back and walking around the couch to sit next to Grantaire.  Roux immediately climbed up into Enjolras’ lap, his favorite place.  “I like scooping ice cream.  It’s fun.  The little kids are cute, people like talking to me, I guess…It’s nice.” He smiled.

         “I’m glad it’s nice.”

         “I’m glad you’re nice.”

         “I’m not that nice.” Grantaire said with a smirk.

         “You’re nice, Grantaire.”

         “Just wait till I get you in be—” Enjolras slapped his hand over Grantaire’s mouth.

         “Don’t say that, that’s crude!” Enjolras laughed.  Grantaire licked his hand and Enjolras pulled it away quickly, wiping it on Grantaire’s shirt. “You’re disgusting!”

         “Thank you, Apollo, that means a lot.” Grantaire replied, laughing.

         “I love you.”

         “I love you too. Now get your skinny ass off to work.” Grantaire said, giving Enjolras a joking slap on the backside as he stood up.

         “I changed my mind. You’re a jackass.” Enjolras said before opening the door.

         “Thanks.” Grantaire said with a smile, playing with the kitten in his lap.  “Oh wait, Enjolras!” he called just before he shut the door. Enjolras peeked back inside. “What time do you get off?”

         “My shift ends at four.”

         “I’ll pick you up.” He grinned.

         “Okay.  Thanks, Lovey.” He called back with his angelic smile. Grantaire thought he might melt.

 

—o0o—

 

Enjolras walked through the door of the little corner ice cream shop with a smile, waving to Musichetta, the girl who usually opened up; the owner’s daughter.  She was good friends with Bossuet, and dated Joly for a bit a while back.  Enjolras liked her. She was funny and sweet, covered in freckles, her hair red and curly, pulled into a pom-pom ponytail on the top of her head.  She was taller than Enjolras, and ever so slightly chubby, in a cute sort of way.  She made Enjolras laugh.

         “Oh Enjolras I missed you so much!” she said, giving him a hug as he swung open the gate to get behind the counter.  He returned the hug.

         “Missed you too, Musichetta!” he said.

         “You look great! So much better. Do you feel better?” Enjolras nodded.

         “I haven’t felt this good in a long time.” He admitted with a smile.

         “You look much better, happier, I mean.” She said, setting a stack of sugar cones on the counter. Enjolras refilled the jar of spoons just as the first group of customers breezed through the door; a group of girls, all of them in shorts and tank tops.  It was a hot day.

         “Hello, ladies.” Musichetta said with a smile.  “What can I get you?” she leaned over the counter.  Enjolras sat quietly on the countertop, waiting for an order to make. Musichetta usually took the orders and Enjolras made them, unless it was particularly busy and both of them had to scoop.

         “oh, um…I don’t know…” she glanced at Enjolras with her wide eyes, covered in bright eye shadow.  Musichetta rolled her eyes. “What do you like?” she asked Enjolras. He slipped off of the counter and smiled meekly at the girl.

         “I usually go for a chocolate soft serve in a cone.  Lots of sprinkles.” He said with a little shrug and a chuckle.

         “Want to get one for me, cutie?” she continued.  Enjolras sighed.  This happened all the time, and he knew it made Musichetta feel badly about herself. She wasn’t your standard ‘pretty’, and hated it when tall, thin girls came in just to flirt with Enjolras, which happened often.  Enjolras nodded and made the cone, then handed it to the girl, who took Enjolras’ hand a purposeful second too long.  She batted her eyelashes. Enjolras did his best to ignore her.

         “What time do you get off?” she asked.

         “Four, but—”

         “I’ll take you out, if you want.” She said with a confident smile.  Her friends giggled, completely ignoring Musichetta, who was trying to take their orders.

         “I-I can’t, I have plans…” he lied.  The girl made a pouty face.

         “Want to go another time?  I’m Stephanie, by the way.” She said with a sweet smile.

         “I’m sorry, Stephanie, I’m not interes—”

         “Aw don’t be like that!” she pouted.  Musichetta looked like she was about to explode, and it wasn’t long before she did.

         “He’s gay, Princess!” She said, more or less throwing a scoop of chocolate ice cream into a cup for one of the girl’s friends.  All of the girls giggled and whispered things like ‘that makes him even cuter!’ and ‘I wonder if he’s got a boyfriend!’ or ‘the cute ones are always gay!’ Enjolras blushed.

         “Well you should have said so!” The girl, Stephanie, said, smiling awkwardly.

         “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

         “Leave him alone! It’s not his fault. Just order.  We have other customers.” Musichetta said. The rest of the group ordered, and Enjolras hung back, making orders and handing them to Musichetta to give to the girls. Before they left, Stephanie turned around and held up her receipt, showing Enjolras the number she had written on the back.

         “If you change your mind.” She said, dropping it into the tip jar, along with her change. Enjolras sighed as they left.

         “Sorry, ‘Jolras.” Musichetta said as she wiped down the counter.

         “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He replied with a smile.

         “I just can’t stand it when people do that!  It’s so annoying! It must be embarrassing as shit for you!”

         “I don’t usually shout out that I’m gay, but…” he joked, smiling. Musichetta blushed.

         “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stand it anymore!” she said, laughing, but genuine.

         “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He grinned. “To be honest, I thought it was pretty obvious…”

         “It’s tough to tell with you…You’re pretty, but you don’t like…dress gay…”

         “That’s not stereotypical and potentially derogatory at all.” Enjolras said with a chuckle.

         “No you know what I mean!”  She giggled. “I could tell with Joly. That’s why I broke up with him. I could tell he wasn’t happy. He was always looking at Bossuet funny, and I just…I knew it.  I wasn’t so sure about you, though, but I’ll totally admit I thought you were a girl for the first few hours, until I really started talking to you.”

         “I think most people probably do.” Enjolras smiled.

         “you could get a haircut.  That might help.”

         “I like it, though…Grantaire likes it.” He said.

         “Ooohhh Grantaire!” she said, giving Enjolras’ shoulder a teasing nudge. “When did you start going out with him?” she asked.

         “A few days before I was admitted into treatment…” he explained. “He brought me to the hospital…I probably would have died without him, honestly.”

         “Oh sweetie!” Musichetta said.  “Why him, though? I mean, he’s great, but…He’s sort of…different from you, isn’t he?  No offence, I just…He doesn’t really seem like your sort of person.”  Enjolras smiled.

         “I thought that at first too.” Enjolras admitted, “But the more I saw him, the more I realized he was…passionate…Maybe not in the same way I am, but he is so unconditional in everything he does. He loves me so much. And I love him too.” He said quietly, a tinge of pink creeping into his cheeks.

         “You sound like Jehan, you dork.” Musichetta said.

         “I’ve never really loved anyone how I love him!  He’s a sweetie!”

         “I’m glad for you, ‘Jolras!” she said as the door swung open again. It was Jehan and Feuilly.

         “Hey guys!” Enjolras cooed with a smile.

         “Hello, Lovely! Grantaire told us you were back to work today, so we came to say hello!”

         “Thanks! Want anything?” Enjolras asked.

         “Musichetta knows my usual.” Jehan said with a grin.

         “You want your lemon ice with strawberries, right?”

         “Don’t forget my pink spoon, I know you have them in the back.” He added somewhat sarcastically. Musichetta grinned and fixed Jehan’s cup, then handed it to him carefully.

         “What do you want, Feuilly?” Enjolras asked, leaning over the counter.

         “I need the peanut butter cup one.” He said relatively flatly, his usual tone. Enjolras handed him his cone with a smile.

         “Thanks, kiddo.” He replied.

         “Feuilly can we stay?” Jehan whispered to him, standing on his toes to get closer to his ear. Feuilly smiled.

         “Sure. Sit in the window, Baby-Doll.” He replied lightly.  He only ever spoke that way to Jehan, and Enjolras thought it was rather funny. Jehan smiled and stood on his toes again, his hand on Feuilly’s chest, as Feuilly leaned down and gave him a little kiss.  Enjolras smiled. Musichetta blushed and looked away with a silly grin.

         “You’re so cute, Jehan!” she said as he hopped up onto one of the tall chairs at the window bar.

         “I don’t look particularly lovely today!” he replied with a blush.  “Just my flower sweatshirt and jeans.” He smiled, snuggling up in his pastel colored sweatshirt covered in large blooms of every shape and size. He was wearing a pair of white skinny jeans along with a pair of Chuck Taylors, one pale pink, and the other pale yellow.  He wore pair of heart-printed socks pushed down over the cuffs of his jeans.  His hair was crowned in flowers.

         “If you don’t think that outfit is charming, you’re nuts.” She replied with a smile. Jehan’s blush deepened. He was terribly shy, and he didn’t know Musichetta all that well. 

         “You and your flowers, Jehan.” Enjolras said with a grin.  Jehan returned the smile.

         “Everyone needs flowers in their life.” He cooed. 

         “Is that why you painted them all over the corner of my living room?” Enjolras smiled.

         “Yes of course!” he replied.  Musichetta smiled.

         “I found the fan painted on the slip cover too, Feuilly.” Enjolras added.  Feuilly grinned to himself, looking down and chuckling. “They redid my apartment while I was gone.” Enjolras explained to Musichetta. 

         “Aw you guys are so nice!” she said.  Jehan finished his lemon sorbet and tossed the little clear cup into the bin by the door. Feuilly finished his cone shortly after and stood up, taking Jehan’s hand.

         “Thanks, Kiddo.” He said to Enjolras, holding the door for Jehan.

         “Yes thank you, Lovely!  Nice to see you too, Musichetta!” Jehan added with a little wave.

         “Come back soon!” Musichetta said with a smile.  “I love that kid.  He’s adorable.”

         “Jehan? Or Feuilly?” Enjolras asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew who she was talking about.

         “Jehan, stupid! Feuilly’s a little intimidating, honestly.” She said, sort of mumbling the last part.  Enjolras laughed.

         “Yeah, Jehan’s a cutie.” Enjolras agreed.  He and Jehan had been friends since they were very little.  Both of their parents were wealthy and were affiliated with the same company, so they spent quite a lot of time together when they were very small children. Enjolras’ mother was very good friends with Jehan’s mother, and though their fathers didn’t see eye to eye, they put up with each other for the sake of their wives and sons. Jehan’s father was much like Jehan in spirit; quiet and subdued, a little on the shy side.  He looked nothing like his son, though, with his tall frame and straight blonde hair he kept cropped short.  Jehan’s looks came from his mother, who was very small and pale, with red hair and freckles, just like Jehan.  His father could usually be found in a pair of cargo kakis and a t-shirt from his latest volunteer endeavor, as well as a pair of high-end hiking shoes, always ready to help someone in need or go on an unexpected adventure. His mother dressed more like him, however her clothes came strictly from the thrift shop; she didn’t agree with wasting anything, even though she was more than wealthy enough to afford new clothes.  She was outgoing and loved to talk, and was always making things from quilts to stained glass windows to clothes to wind chimes; anything to make the world more beautiful.

         Enjolras’ father was always in a suit and tie, his shoes shined to reflective perfection. His hair was blonde like Enjolras’, but was dulling and mixed with white strands.  He was stern, somber, and very business-oriented.  Though he and the Prouvaire’s did not work together, Jehan’s grandfather had started the firm Enjolras’ parents both worked at. Their money came from the same place, and both were very wealthy families.  Enjolras’ mother was always in designer clothes and shoes, her hair in a stylish crop. She wore diamonds everywhere, and was always in heals.  Enjolras didn’t understand how she and Mrs. Prouvaire got along so well—they were so different—but they did, and Enjolras was happy for that.  He and Jehan were such good friends now, and it was because of the friendship their mothers shared.

         “I’d totally date him. He’s adorable.” Musichetta smiled.

         “People who aren’t told usually think he’s a girl.” Enjolras said with a smile and a laugh.

         “That makes him cute, though!”

         “He’s funny that way. Everyone just loves him, and he loves everyone right back.  Feuilly just seems to have caught his fancy.”

         “I wouldn’t have put them together.” She said.  “It’s like you and Grantaire.  It seems like you would clash so badly, but you get along anyway.  Jehan is like a little girl, and Feuilly is like a grouchy old man.” She said. Enjolras smiled.

         “Sort of…! Feuilly’s just a little cold…sort of awkward, I think.  He doesn’t really seem to know what to say to anyone except Jehan.”

         “Well, they’re both cuties, and when you put two cuties together, you get a pile of adorable, and there’s nothing I like better than adorable-ness.” She explained. Enjolras shook his head and laughed.

         Customers came and went at a steady flow throughout the day, and soon, it was almost four. Enjolras wiped down the counter one final time before clocking out, then sat at the window, waiting for Grantaire.

         “Someone picking you up?” Musichetta asked.  Enjolras nodded.

         “Your boyfriend?” she asked with a smile.  Enjolras nodded again.

         “That’s nice of him.” Enjolras smiled as Grantaire’s Vespa backfired on the curb, obviously startling him, which made Enjolras laugh. He swung the door open with a smile.

         “Hey sunshine.” He smiled.  “Hi, Musichetta.” He added.

         “Hey Grantaire!” she chimed.  “Lucky you, dating Enjolras!  He only rejected like five girls today.”  Enjolras rolled his eyes.

         “That tends to happen when you’re seeing someone, Musichetta.” He said with a grin.

         “Ready to go?” Grantaire asked.

         “Yeah. In a hurry?” Enjolras asked.

         “I made dinner reservations.” He grinned.  Enjolras gave him a hug, standing on his toes and wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s neck.

         “Well hurry then, Enjolras!  You can’t go out to nice dinner in that.” Musichetta said with a smile.  “You’re all finished here!”

         “Thanks, Musichetta!” Enjolras called as Grantaire pulled the door open for him. They puttered away on Grantaire’s scooter.

 

—o0o—

 

         “Where are we going, Grantaire?” Enjolras asked from the bedroom, getting changed. “Must be somewhere nice, if you shaved.” He joked.  Grantaire laughed.

         “It is nice. I told you to wear a tie.” He smiled.

         “Where did you get the money for this?” he asked. 

         “Sold a painting.”

         “Which one?”

         “That one I did of you a few days ago.”

         “The one of me laying on the sofa?” he asked.

         “No I kept that one, you liked that one.  It was the one of you reading on the roof terrace.”

         “I can’t believe people buy paintings of me!” Enjolras said, peeking around the door, his hair wet from his shower.

         “Why wouldn’t they? You’re beautiful! Who doesn’t want painting of a pretty blonde hanging on their wall?”  Enjolras blushed, pulling his head back inside the bedroom. Grantaire smiled and crept towards the bedroom door, opening it quickly, startling Enjolras as he buttoned up his shirt.

         “Grantaire!” he laughed, hopping up and standing on the bed, putting on a red tie. Grantaire hugged his middle and looked up at Enjolras as he stood on the bed.

         “Why are you so pretty?” he asked.  Enjolras played with Grantaire’s dark curls.

         “Why are you so sweet?” he replied.  He knelt down on the bed, making him the same height as Grantaire, and kissed him. Grantaire smiled, nuzzling the crook of Enjolras’ neck, kissing at his collarbones.  Enjolras smiled, leaning into him. “I have to get ready, Grantaire.” He said after a long moment.  Grantaire reluctantly pulled away.

         “Yeah, I know.” He said with his awkward, crooked grin Enjolras loved so much. He left the room slowly, pulling the door shut with a smile.  Enjolras finished getting dressed, and then pulled his hair back into a neat ponytail. He slipped on his dress shoes and met Grantaire in the living room, where he stood in his own dress clothes, his hair combed, his normally stubbly chin smooth.  Enjolras smiled.

         “You clean up good, R.” he said.

         “Eponine told me what to do.” He admitted, holding up his phone with the text messages from Eponine.  Enjolras laughed, the smell of Grantaire’s aftershave pleasantly filling the room.

         “We’re going to look so strange on your Vespa all dressed up like this!” Enjolras said, taking Grantaire’s hand and holding open the door.

         “I wouldn’t worry about it.” Grantaire said with a grin.  Enjolras raised an eyebrow, suddenly slightly suspicious.

Grantaire held open the front door of the building, revealing a shiny black limousine waiting on the curb, a man holding the door open for them.  Enjolras looked to Grantaire, his jaw hanging open in disbelief.

“Grantaire, when—”

“I’ve been planning this for a while.” He smiled.  “Go ahead, get in!” he said, taking Enjolras’ hand and sitting down next to him on the red velvet seats.

“You did all this for me?”

“Of course! I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” He said, craning his neck up and giving Grantaire a kiss on the corner of his mouth. The driver, an older gentleman, chuckled lightly at their infatuation before sliding over the curtain separating the back seat from the front.  Enjolras laughed and leaned into Grantaire.

“He’s obviously jealous.” Grantaire joked.

“Jealous of me,” Enjolras said, “for having someone like you.”

“No way.  He’s jealous of me because you’re so beautiful and you’re letting ugly old me hang around.”

“First of all, you’re not ugly, Grantaire, you’re charming, and second, it isn’t about looks!”

“I know it’s not, but even you have to admit you’re something special.  It’s these curls.  They’ll be the death of me.” Grantaire said, pulling gently on one of Enjolras’ pipe curls and letting it bounce back.  Enjolras laughed.

“One of the few things I can thank my father for.” Enjolras replied.

“I’ve never met your parents.” Grantaire said, taking Enjolras’ hand.  “I only spoke to your mom that one time, when you were in the hospital.”

“Good.” Enjolras replied. “They’re not that great.”

“They must have some good in them.” Grantaire said with a smile.  “They made you.”  Enjolras smiled. “We should invite them to visit.” Enjolras shrugged.

“I don’t want anything to happen…”

“What do you mean?”

“My dad…he wanted the perfect son, you know?  Strong, tough, football player, lawyer…Thus far I’ve failed in all of those things save law school…”

“Enjolras, you’re perfect, and if he can’t see that, it’s his fault, not yours.”

“I love you, Grantaire.”

“I love you too, Apollo.” He replied as the came to a halt in front of the restaurant.  When the driver opened the door, Grantaire stood up first, offering his hand to Enjolras, who took it with a smile before looking around, his jaw dropping yet again when he realized where they were.

“Hotel Le Meurice…Grantaire this is so much mon—” Grantaire put his hand over Enjolras’ mouth with a smile.

“I’ve got it covered, don’t worry about it.” He smiled.

“I came here all the time as a kid! Oh Grantaire, this is amazing!”

“High class establishment.” Grantaire said with a smile, holding the door for Enjolras.

“I feel underdressed!” he said, straightening his tie.

“Nah.  You always look classy.” Grantaire replied as they walked inside.

“Welcome! Do you have a reservation?” the woman at the front desk asked.

“We do.” Grantaire replied with a smile. “Six thirty for Grantaire.” He added. Enjolras look his hand, weaving their fingers together. 

“Would you like to check in now as well?” she asked, flipping through her book.

“I checked in earlier.” He smiled, holding up a room key.  Enjolras looked up at him.

“A room?” he said quietly, truly surprised.

“Yup.”

“Grantaire, it’s over €1000 a night.” He whispered.

“I know.  Nothing is too good for my Apollo. Stop worrying.” He grinned, squeezing Enjolras’ hand and following the hostess into the dining room, where she gave them a table for two in the window.  Enjolras smiled, showing his impeccable teeth in a godly grin. Grantaire smiled as well. He could hardly fathom Enjolras’ beauty. He was so unearthly beautiful, sometimes Grantaire doubted he was even real.  Grantaire had many imaginary friends as a child, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Enjolras was just another figment of his overactive imagination. His face was just so wonderfully fair and light, with a thin, pointed nose and long, thick eyelashes that framed his impossibly blue eyes.  His mouth was perfectly symmetrical, with a thick bottom lip that he bit when he was nervous.  Freckles were sprinkled sparsely on his cheek bones.  It often crossed Grantaire’s mind how strange they must have looked together: petite, fair Enjolras, whose beauty was ethereal, and awkward, bulky Grantaire, constantly covered in paint.

Grantaire really was honestly unattractive.  He had a big nose that sat somewhat crookedly on his face from when he broke it playing baseball as a little kid.  His skin was rough and scared from acne as a teenager, and one of his canines was a mile higher than the rest of his teeth.  When he was little, the dentist told him he needed braces badly to deal with crowding in his lower jaw and his high canine, but that wasn’t in the budget for his drunk father, and now he honestly didn’t care. When he was twelve, his father had smacked him in the mouth, splitting his lip, and a scar was still easily visible. His hair was a mop of nearly-black curls, and no matter how hard he tried, he could never get them to stay put for very long; his hair was currently crispy with so much product to make himself at least semi-presentable for their dinner date. 

He didn’t understand why Enjolras had agreed to be with him. Enjolras could have easy had anyone he wanted, male or female, but he had chosen him—ugly, crude, cynical Grantaire—to date, and Grantaire couldn’t be happier.

 

—o0o—

 

Dinner went off without a hitch, and shortly after, Grantaire held the door open to their suite for Enjolras, who was amazed at the richly decorated room. He sat down on the high bed, slipping off his shoes and pulling up his legs, hugging his knees to his chest with a smile.

         “This is beautiful, Grantaire!” he said.  Grantaire approached him and gave him a hug, kissing his hair, taking in Enjolras’ intoxicating aroma of peppermint and springtime.  “I haven’t packed anything!” he chuckled.  “I guess I’ll have to sleep in this.” He took off his tie and rolled it neatly around his hand, then leaned back and placed it on the nightstand.

         “I’ve got you covered.” Grantaire said, opening the top drawer of the dresser and tossing Enjolras favorite pair of fleecy pajama bottoms.  He smiled.

         “Thank you, Lovey.” He said, laying back on the bed, his arms spread wide over the silken comforter. “This is so nice.” He said quietly, his eyes closed.

         “Glad you think so. I’m going to get a shower quick…My hair feels like a potato chip.” Grantaire said with a sideways grin. 

         “Alright.” Enjolras replied. “I’ll get changed.”

 

Grantaire hadn’t been in the shower long when the bathroom door opened slowly. He smiled when he saw Enjolras in the doorway, a fluffy white bath robe covering everything but his immaculate face.

         “Can I brush my teeth?” he asked, looking away.  Grantaire grinned

         “Only if you come in the shower with me first.” He said.  He could see Enjolras blush through the foggy glass shower enclosure. 

         “I-I don’t—I mean, I’ve never—”

         “First time for everything.” Grantaire said. “And hopefully a second.” Enjolras chuckled.

         “I suppose so.” He replied, uncrossing his arms, the only thing keeping his robe closed around him. Grantaire opened the glass shower door and peeked around it, smiling and Enjolras’ blush when he let the robe fall to the floor.  Grantaire offered Enjolras his hand, which he took, and pulled him into the shower, steam swirling around them, keeping them warm.

         “Here…” Grantaire said, holding a bar of soap in his hand and turning Enjolras around.  He ran his soapy hand up and down Enjolras’ smooth, pale back, rubbing his shoulders slowly.  Enjolras smiled.

         “I’ve never done this before.” He admitted.  Enjolras had never been with anyone before, and had most certainly never allowed anyone to see him in such a state as this.  He felt himself trembling, slightly nervous about all of this.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Grantaire, it was that he didn’t trust himself.  He wanted to be everything Grantaire wanted, and he wasn’t sure if he was.  He never had anyone else to compare himself to, and he knew Grantaire had much more experience than he did.  Grantaire was an artist: he had probably seen a plethora of nude models.  What if Enjolras didn’t meet his standards of beauty?

         “It’s okay. Just relax.” He ran his lathery hands through Enjolras’ hair, pulling out the elastic and letting it fall loosely down his back in tumbling, golden curls.  Enjolras turned to face Grantaire, running his own soapy hands through Grantaire’s hair, washing away the stiffness of the product he had used, revealing his soft, bouncy curls. He smiled, standing on his toes and giving him a quick kiss. Grantaire grinned.

         “Not so bad, right?” he said.

         “No.  Not so bad.” Enjolras replied as Grantaire scratched his back lightly.  He looked him over, starting at his feet and working his way up until his eyes met Enjolras’. He blushed, playing with his golden hair.  “What?” he asked, biting his lip.

         “You’re beautiful. Like a marble statue.” Grantaire replied, turning off the water and pulling a towel off the hook on the wall. He draped it over Enjolras’ shoulders, knowing he felt vulnerable with nothing on, and rubbed at his arms, warming up his Apollo.  Enjolras smiled as Grantaire retrieved his own towel, wrapping it around his waist and drying off. Then he scooped up Enjolras and carried him to bed, taking his towel and covering him up.  Enjolras giggled lightly, snuggling up in the sheets, the light fabric cool against his dewy skin.  Grantaire leaned over and kissed him hard as Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire, playing with the wisps of curly hair at the nape of his neck. Grantaire tossed his own towel onto the floor and slipped under the covers next to Enjolras, holding him close, running his artistic hand down Enjolras’ side, scratching lightly at his hip, the other occupied with his golden hair.  He worked kisses all the way down Enjolras, stopping only when his Apollo took his chin, prompting him to look up.

         “Be gentle with me.” He said with a meek smile, biting his lip again. 

         “Always.” Grantaire replied.

 

 

~imma stop...sorry no smut here! You can yell at me in a comment if you feel like it I'm not good at writing that sorta stuff, though, so I'm just gonna leave this chapter alone now... *pokes it gently* yeah imma leave it alone.


	19. Chapter 19

Enjolras woke the next morning in his favorite place: Grantaire’s arms. He smiled, turning to face him, slightly surprised by the pain in his lower back.  He winced, but smiled as he kissed Grantaire awake.

         “Morning, Sunshine.” He said, his eyes remaining closed.  “What time is it?”

         “It’s 7:50.” He replied. Grantaire grumbled and opened his eyes, slowly revealing their bright green hue.  Enjolras smiled, running his hand down Grantaire’s cheek lovingly.

         “Sleep well?” he asked. Enjolras nodded.

         “I want this bed.” Grantaire chuckled.

         “Have a good time last night?” he asked with a snide smirk.  Enjolras blushed.

         “I am so sore right now I don’t even want to talk about it.” He replied, trying to keep a straight face.

         “Dinner made you sore?” Grantaire asked in mock confusion, bowing his eyebrows.

         “Yes, Grantaire, dinner made me _so_ sore…But it was very good.” Enjolras replied with a small smile.

         “Does that mean you want to have _dinner_ again?” Grantaire asked with a grin.

         “Not right now!” Enjolras cooed, pulling the blankets over his head.

         “No not now! But another time, maybe?” Grantaire asked, peeking under the blankets at Enjolras.

         “I think that would be nice.” Enjolras replied, emerging from his blanket.

         “I think that would be nice too.”

         “Don’t make me sore next time.”

         “I am not sure if you can have proper _dinner_ without getting a little sore.” Grantaire said, sitting up and making a sort of thoughtful face. Enjolras laughed and hugged him tight.

 

—o0o—

 

Courf>9:13 – How was your date? ;)

Me>9:13 – best ever.

Courf>9:14 – that good, huh?  U only dropped like €2000

Me>9:14 – Totally worth it.

Courf>9:15 – nice place?

Me>9:16 – we did the thing

Courf>9:16 – no u did not!  With Enj?

Me>9:17 – No with fuckin Cleopatra yes Enj!

Courf>9:17 – I do not believe he let you do that!

Me>9:18 – are u suggesting he didn’t want to?  Im not that much of an asshole

Courf>9:18 – hell no Enj would kill you before you did son of a bitch is tougher than he looks.

Me>9:18 – haha

Courf>9:18 – was it good?!

Me>9:19 – his first time, but yeah he didn’t know what to do it was pretty cute.

Courf>9:20 – You dirty bastard ;)

 

“Who are you talking to?” Enjolras asked from where he was laying on the sofa.

         “Courfeyrac.” Grantaire replied, chuckling.

         “What’s funny?” he asked, curiously peeking over the back of the sofa.

         “You.”

         “me?”

         “yup.”

         “Do you talk about anything besides me?”

         “Nope.”

         “People will tire of you, Grantaire.

         “No this conversation is quite enjoyable, actually.”

         “Grantaire—you didn’t tell him, did you?”

         “I did.  Is that bad?”

         “I guess not. He called me immediately after he and Combeferre had their first _dinner date_ freshman year.”

         “They were together then?”

         “Not really. They were both hammered when they did it, but he called me anyway.  I had to pick him up.  He was in a sheet.” Enjolras explained, oddly un-amused. Grantaire laughed.

        

         Me>9:23 – I heard about ur sheet of shame.

         Courf>9:24 – Enjolras must die.

 

         “Feel like doing something?” Grantaire asked.

         “I feel like my lower back has been run over with something heavy, but I suppose some Advil will fix that.” He replied, peeling himself up off of the sofa, holding his lower back in his hands, and heading over to the tiny cabinet above the toaster and shaking a few Advil out of the container, swallowing them dry.  Grantaire was amazed, but wasn’t sure how to compliment something like that, so he just stayed quiet.

         “What do you want to do?” he asked.  Grantaire shrugged.

         “Want to go to Astérix?” he asked.

         “The theme park?” Enjolras asked with a grin, raising an eyebrow.

         “Yeah.  We’ll invite the guys.  It’ll be fun.” He said, hugging Enjolras in the kitchen. 

“I haven’t been there since I was twelve, but sure, why not.” Enjolras replied.  Roux rubbed his head against Enjolras’ leg.  He was a jealous little thing, and hated it when Enjolras gave anyone love besides him. Enjolras scooped him up and held him.

         “Yes I love you too, my pretty kitty cat!” he said, assuming his high, goofy voice.  “What a lovely kitten, Roux!  Yes what a lovely kitten!”  Grantaire chuckled, shaking his head.

         “You’re a pretty kitten too, Grantaire.” He said, standing on his toes and giving him a kiss.

         “Love you.”

         “I love you too. Send out a message and tell everyone to meet here to go to Astérix.” Enjolras replied with a smile.  He set Roux down on the floor and picked up his water dish, refilling it as Grantaire sent around the invite.

 

To: Courf, Combeferre, Jehan, Feuilly, Bossuet, Joly, Marius, Cosette, Ponine

Me>9:50 – Going to Astérix wanna come?

Jehan>9:52 – Feuilly and I are in!  We can drive a few!

Ponine>9:54 – Hellz yeah ur cute friend coming? ;)

Me>9:54 – Enj is coming, if that’s what ur asking…no touching he’s mine!!!

Ponine>9:54 – Boo you whore.

Me>9:54 – Mean Girls serious?

Jehan>9:54 – We can share my Feuilly for the day if you’d like, Eponine! <3

Ponine>9:55 – Thank you Jehan you’re my favorite and yes Grantaire because you are a mean girl.

Bossuet>9:55 – I can drive a few.  I like you Eponine.

Joly>9:55 – I call shotgun, Bossuet!

Ponine>9:56 – I like you fine I guess, Bossuet

Marius>9:56 – Cosette and I are coming!  I can drive two more!

Me>9:57 – Meet here we’ll figure out cars.

Jehan>9:58 – Yay! <3 <3 <3

 

         “Everyone’s free, Apollo.” Grantaire said with a smile.

         “Well that’s a miracle. Are we bringing the Vespa?”

         “Either that or we can hitch a ride…It’s sorta far I don’t know if the Vespa can make it.” Enjolras laughed.

         “Let’s go with Feuilly and Jehan. They’re good for a laugh.”

         “sounds good.” Grantaire smiled. “Wear a bathing suit we might go to the water park.  Enjolras suddenly became very quiet and crossed his arms.  Grantaire looked to him, curious, before realizing what Enjolras was thinking. He gave him a hug, putting his chin in Enjolras’ hair. 

         “It’s okay! You look great, ‘Jolras! Between you and Jehan none of us will be getting any attention but you guys!” he smiled.

         “Just nervous.”

         “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.  Wear a tee shirt.”

         “No.  I can do it.  I have to do it some time.” Enjolras smiled meekly.

         “Proud of you.” Grantaire said, giving him a kiss on the nose.  Enjolras blushed and smiled.

         “I haven’t worn a bathing suit without a shirt since high school.”

         “Big day! Come on I gotta get changed too.” He said, heading into the bedroom and pulling his bathing suit out of the bottom drawer of the dresser: his drawer.  He and Enjolras had moved in together, but Grantaire was far less concerned with looks than Enjolras, and only had about two drawers worth of clothes. Enjolras took the closet and the other two drawers.  It made Enjolras look like a diva, but Grantaire just didn’t have any clothes nice enough to warrant hanging.  He stripped without a second thought, putting on his bathing suit and a tee shirt for travel purposes, tossing a pair of pants into a backpack.  Enjolras stood in the doorway, making a face and covering Roux’s eyes.  Grantaire turned around and bowed his eyebrows.

         “What?”

         “Window’s open, door’s open, your undies are on my pillow, you’re standing naked in the middle of the room…”

         “First of all, I am no longer naked.  Second, I don’t have anything you don’t.  Third, you have made the mistake of opening your home to a slob like me, what do you expect?” Enjolras tried to glare at Grantaire, but started laughing not a moment later.  He retrieved his own bathing suit from the closet and changed in the bathroom.  He came out a moment later, his tee shirt in his hand.  Grantaire whistled.

         “Shut up!” Enjolras laughed, hitting Grantaire with his tee shirt.

         “I can’t help it if you’re attractive! This is your fault!”

         “ _My_ fault?!” he asked, approaching Grantaire and running a hand through his hair.

         “Yes _your_ fault!” he smiled, putting his hands around Enjolras’ waist.  “I just wa—What the hell is this?” he asked, looking at the waistband of Enjolras’ bathing suit. “Are you…Are you wearing a Speedo under that?”  Enjolras blushed.

         “Maybe.”

         “That is the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard of!” Grantaire laughed.  “Why?”

         “I don’t know I’ve always done it.”  Enjolras tugged his ponytail tighter.

         “That is so strange.”

         “You’re the only person who’s ever noticed.”

         “Well it isn’t that noticeable, my hand just happened to be in the right place.” He smirked.

         “Give me my tee shirt back, dork.” He chuckled, pulling up his slightly-too-loose swim trunks.

         “As you wish, Apollo.” Grantaire replied, handing it to him.  Enjolras smiled.

 

—o0o—

 

         “No I can’t It’s too high!” Jehan squealed from the top of one of many waterslides.

         “You can do it, Baby Doll.” Feuilly said, taking Jehan’s hand.

         “Come with me!” Jehan cooed, sitting at the top of the waterslide.  Feuilly sat behind him, his legs on either side of Jehan’s skinny frame and held his waist before scooting down the slide.  Courfeyrac couldn’t help but laugh when he heard Jehan scream at the drop at the bottom. Marius waved down at them.

         “I did it!” Jehan shouted with a smile.

         “Yay!” Marius shouted back. Bossuet and Combeferre clapped politely, Joly cheering at the bottom from the deck. Combeferre belly flopped onto the slide and headed down headfirst.  Courfeyrac was close behind.  Soon everyone was in the massive pool at the bottom of the slides, splashing each other and carrying on, but after a bit, they decided it best to stop for lunch and grabbed a cluster of deck chairs.  Grantaire and Joly carried over their lunches from the food court and set it on the table.

         “Did you remember to take the onions off of Cosette’s?” Marius asked, taking the sandwich he was splitting with her.  Grantaire rolled his eyes.

         “I don’t know which one’s which I literally chucked them all onto a tray and carried them over here!” Grantaire said, picking up his own sandwich.

         “It’s okay, Marius!” Cosette smiled, taking off her onions and handing them to Eponine, who put them on hers.

         “You’re fuckin’ crazy I love onions.” She said, her mouth full.  Cosette giggled, playing with one of her loose mahogany curls. Cosette seemed far more delicate sitting next to Eponine.  She was so tall and willowy and fair, with sparkling blue eyes, her nails painted neatly in pale pink. Even her bathing suit was delicate, pink with a floral print and lace around the hems. 

Eponine was more athletic in build than Cosette, shorter and stockier with wider hips and a more womanly body.  She was very pretty, but in a different way than Cosette.  Her hair was very dark and wavy, and she kept it piled on top of her head in a messy bun.  Cosette’s was in braids.  Her eyes were a deep, meaningful brown, with long lashes and thick eyebrows she was very proud of. She wore a galaxy print one piece with a halter-top and an open back that flattered her shorter build. She was rough and tumble, but she was beautiful.  She only wished some of her friends were either a. straight, or b. available. She laughed about it to herself very often.

Enjolras, too, attracted attention, earning himself quite a few whistles and anonymous pieces of whispers from passing groups of girls. At one point, he became so uncomfortable that he replaced his tee shirt, covering himself up to avoid the attention.

Of the group, Grantaire looked the most awkward in a bathing suit. He wasn’t fat, by any means, but he was of a thicker build than most of the others, and seemed almost too big for his skin.  His shoulders and arms were strong, but his middle was not.  His chest was riddled with scars from his abusive childhood. A deep gully ran up from his hip from when he had his appendix removed when he was thirteen.  He was slightly hairy, too, his arms and legs covered in dark curls.  Grantaire said he looked like a caveman.  Enjolras told him that he must be very fond of cavemen, if that were the case.

But out of everyone, Jehan was quite obviously the most striking. He really was a beautiful example of a human being.  He had already gotten a plethora of compliments on his pale blue floral swim trunks from girls and guys alike, and seemed to always be smiling.  His hair fell in wet tendrils from his ponytail, dripping into his face and making him laugh.  Freckles riddled his body, sprinkled on his shoulders, arms, legs, everywhere. He had been asked out three times, once by a girl, and twice by guys who thought he was a girl. He always giggled and politely declined, explaining that he was with Feuilly, who conveniently seemed to be doing something  disgusting every time someone came over: with one of the guys, he was showing Grantaire a trick he could do with water, pouring the bottle down one side of his nose and letting it dribble out the other side.  When the girl came by, he bet Grantaire he could shove an entire sandwich in his mouth at once. The second guy was lucky enough to see him digging the dirt out from under his toenails.  Feuilly was only mildly disgusting, but today, it seemed, he was always doing something disgusting at just the right moment, and Jehan thought it was hilarious.

 

“Pool time!” Grantaire shouted, standing up and taking Enjolras’ hand as he re-tied the draw on his bathing suit—still too loose.  Cosette and Marius followed, jumping in holding hands. Grantaire hopped in without hesitation.

“Is it cold?” Enjolras asked, holding up his hands in defense when Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and Combeferre jumped in right next to him, splashing.

“No colder than the water slides.” Grantaire said, dunking his head under and pushing his hair back off his face.  Enjolras smiled and dove in gracefully, appearing next to Grantaire. Jehan giggled from the side of the pool. Joly soon joined in.

“What?” Enjolras asked, looking to Grantaire, who had also started to laugh. Courfeyrac and Combeferre chuckled as well.  Eponine was near tears. Even Feuilly was laughing.

“What?!” Enjolras asked again.  Jehan reached into the pool and retrieved Enjolras’ swim trunks. 

“I think you might have lost something, Lovely!” he giggled, holding them up like a red flag.  Enjolras blushed as the people around him in the park started chuckling as well. He was mortified.

“I guess that Speedo is good for something after all!” Grantaire said. Enjolras sank down into the water and blew bubbles out of his nose to hide his face.

“Hey cute butt!” some girl shouted from behind him.  “Yeah get out of the water so we can see!” another girl added.

“Jehan can I have those back?” he asked quietly.  Jehan looked up at Feuilly, who stood beside him, and crossed his arms.

“I’m not sure…what do you think, Love?” he asked Feuilly, who smirked.

“I think I should keep them.” He said, taking them gingerly from Jehan and looking them over.  Onlookers continued to chuckle.  Enjolras was becoming increasingly angry.

“Feuilly!” he shouted.  “Please!”

“Nah.” Feuilly replied, turning to walk away.  Jehan covered his mouth with his hand and giggled, bending his legs and squealing like a little girl.

“Better go get him, Enjolras.” Joly suggested, stifling a laugh.

“Grantaire I—” Enjolras said, looking to Grantaire for support, but he only laughed and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in only a Speedo, to be completely honest.” He smirked.

“I do not believe you.” He hissed, his eyes wild and angry.

“Go get your bathing suit, Apollo.  A God like you shouldn’t mind showing himself off a little.”

“I am going to strangle you.” Enjolras added in a growl, pulling himself up and out of the water, back onto the pool deck.  Whistles and applause rang out from bystanders. Eponine was on the ground, crying with laughter.  Marius watched in awe, surprised that this leader figure had been pushed to something as low as this.  He had always been intimidated by Enjolras, but seeing him now, marching after Feuilly in nothing but a tiny red Speedo, with his small frame and drippy ponytail, made him look completely vulnerable.  He couldn’t help but laugh, not only at the situation, but that, for once, he wasn’t the butt of the joke; Enjolras was.

         All Feuilly really wanted was for Enjolras to get out of the pool and show everyone his near-naked glory, and as soon as he did, Feuilly threw his trunks back, and Enjolras pulled them back on, much to female onlookers’ dismay.  He turned around and glared when they collectively protested. He jumped back in, feet first for the safety of his trunks, and treaded water next to Grantaire for a moment before retreating underwater and swimming away.

         “I think you hurt his feelings, Feuilly.” Joly said from the pool deck.  He dared not get into the public pool for fear of germs and little kid pee.  Too risky. He didn’t want to catch any diseases or…fungus...not to mention he couldn't go in the water with his prosthetic leg on. Feuilly shrugged and slipped into the water, lowering himself down with his strong arms. 

         “Don’t care.” He said. Jehan swam over to him and dunked his head underwater.

         “Feuilly, that’s mean!” he said when he allowed Feuilly to surface.

         “He needs to get teased sometimes. Remind him he’s human.” He said. Grantaire smiled.

         “Ever wonder how this jackass got Enjolras?” Bossuet asked, draping himself over Grantaire and pushing him under with his body weight.  Grantaire pushed him off.

         “Always.” Eponine joked, dipping her legs in the water.

         “Really, though, look at the scruffy bastard!” Combeferre said as Courfeyrac scratched at Grantaire’s unruly hair.

         “I’m not that bad, for Christ’s sake!” Grantaire said with a laugh.

         “Grantaire you kind of are.” Courfeyrac teased.

         “It’s like Hermia and Lysander.” Combeferre said.  Jehan giggled.

         “I love that play!” he cooed.

         “You guys are assholes.”

         “But that’s why you love us.” Eponine chimed, kicking water at him.  Grantaire laughed.

 

—o0o—

 

That night, Enjolras went straight from the shower to bed, followed shortly by Roux who slipped in before Enjolras shut the door.  Grantaire looked up from where he was laying on the couch, slightly concerned. He stood up and knocked on the door.

         “Enjolras?” he asked.

         “Yes?” he replied simply from inside.

         “What’s up?”

         “Nothing.”

         “Can I come in?”

         “If you feel like it.” Grantaire pushed open the door and found Enjolras laying in bed, facing the window with the light off, watching the stars.  Roux lay next to him, already asleep with Enjolras stroking his back.

         “What are you doing?” Grantaire asked, sitting on the bed and placing his hand gently on Enjolras’ hip.

         “Petting my kitten.” Enjolras replied quietly, his voice muffled by his pillow, his hair a wild mess around his lovely head.

         “You’re not mad at me about your bathing suit, are you?” Grantaire asked, slightly nervous at the answer.

         “No!” Enjolras chuckled. “That was funny!” he turned over to face Grantaire, sitting up and leaning into him.  Grantaire ran his hand through Enjolras’ golden curls.

         “Does your back still hurt?” he asked.  Enjolras shook his head.

         “No.”

         “Good.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything.”

         “You didn’t hurt me. It was nice.  You were very gentle.”  Grantaire smiled and kissed Enjolras’ hair.

         “I’m glad it was nice.”

         “I love you.”

         “I love you too.” He replied as Enjolras laid down on his back, his tee shirt riding up to reveal his trim middle.  Enjolras closet his eyes with a contented sigh.  Grantaire watched him for a moment with a smile, realizing how much Enjolras had changed. Three months ago, he never would have let anyone see him like this, in thin cotton a tee shirt and his favorite pair of red boxers.  He never would have allowed his middle to be exposed how it was right now.  He shivered, thinking about everything that had happened between them, from the first time Grantaire attended a volunteer meeting, to that day in the park when Enjolras seemed to have fallen from the sky and into his life, however unpleasant the experience may have been. Grantaire had been there during the worst and darkest time in Enjolras’ existence, and they had come out of it together. Grantaire had been Enjolras’ first date. His first kiss. His first time loving. Enjolras had been the first person Grantaire really cared about beyond friendship.  Yes, he had been on dates and done this and that with numerous people, he never cared about them how he cared about Enjolras. He never loved them in the way he loved Enjolras.  He hadn’t really and truly experienced love until Enjolras.

         He leaned down and kissed Enjolras gently on his top lip, just resting there for a long moment as Enjolras kissed him back lazily, nearly asleep.

         “Love you.” Enjolras mumbled when they finally parted.

         “I love you too, Sunshine. I love you so much.” Enjolras snuggled up against Grantaire as he joined him under the blankets.  Grantaire wrapped his arm around Enjolras’ waist, and Enjolras felt no need to protest; no voice in his head telling him that he was ugly or fat or disgusting. There was nothing except him and Grantaire, laying there quietly in the dark, the full moon shining through the open window, the sounds of the city lulling them to sleep. With Grantaire, Enjolras knew he was perfect.  He knew that he didn’t have to lose or gain or stress or worry.  All he needed was Grantaire’s warm embrace, because when he was in Grantaire’s arms, he was perfect.  He was beautiful.

 

 

~And so this part of the story ends!  
  
I hope you guys enjoyed it!  If you're interested, there is another part of this little series, I suppose, centered around Jehan and Feuilly, and I'm sure at some point I'll continue with other characters and relations as well!  
  
Thank you to everyone who stuck with me until the end!  I appreciate the comments and kudos and love everyone has given!    
  
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the story :)


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